THE 


TEMPERANCE   TALES. 


VOL.  V. 


THE    STAGE-COACH. 


BOSTON: 

WHIFFLE    AND    DAMRELL. 
NEW  YORK:  —  SCOFIELD  AND   VOORIIISS 

MDCCCXX'CVIII, 


Number  Sixteen* 

. 


THE    STAGE-COACH. 


FOUNDED    ON    FACT. 

:"': ''/." 

IF  1 t 1\} 


PUBLISHED  BY  WHIFFLE  &  DAMRELL, 

No.  9  Cornhill. 

NEW    YORK:  — SCOFEELD    &    VOORMIES, 
No.  118  Nassau  Street. 

1839. 


Entered  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1837, 
BY  WILLIAM  S.  DAMRELL, 

In  the  Cleik's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


TO    THE    READER. 

THE  pyrotechnist,  after  an  exhibition  of 
single  rockets,  until  he  has  reason  to  believe, 
that  the  public  taste  may  possibly  demand 
some  change,  occasionally  throws  them  up  by 
the  half  dozen  together.  In  the  performance 
which  is  now  presented  to  the  reader,  we  have 
followed  this  laudable  example. 

The  substantial  parts  of  all  the  stories, 
which  are  narrated  in  the  present  volume, 
under  the  title  of  the  STAGE-COACH,  have 
been  communicated  to  the  writer,  at  different 
periods,  in  stages,  steam-boats,  and  rail-road 
cars.  They  have  been  selected,  for  the 
present  publication,  from  an  inexhaustible 

M106691 


4  TO    THE    READER, 

mass  of  materials,  gathered  in  a  similar 
manner.  They  have  been  thus  selected,  on 
account  of  the  entire  respectability  of  those 
individuals,  from  whose  lips  they  were  re 
ceived. 

More  than  one  of  the  tales,  which  are  now 
presented,  will,  doubtless,  appear  extraordina 
ry,  and  even  improbable,  to  many  readers. 
We  are  daily  instructed,  however,  that  the 
legitimate  boundaries  of  truth  are  sufficiently 
comprehensive,  to  contain  much  that  is  won 
derful  and  apparently  improbable.  In  every 
instance,  wherein  a  reasonable  doubt  might 
be  supposed  to  arise  in  the  reader's  mind, 
the  writer  of  these  tales  has  corresponded 
with  those,  by  whom  the  stories  were  origin 
ally  told,  and  obtained  from  them  a  written 
narrative  of  the  important  facts. 

It  is  the  object  of  the  present  publication 


TO    THE    READER.  5 

to  illustrate  the  truth,  that  there  is  no  pro 
tection  against  the  evils  of  intemperance  in 
age,  or  sex,  or  condition ;  —  that  the  holy 
office  is  occasionally  brought  into  contempt 
by  intemperate  clergymen ;  and  that  to  Him, 
who  is  of  purer  eyes  than  to  behold  iniquity, 
the  sin  of  drunkenness  is  equally  offensive, 
whatever  the  means  may  be,  whereby  it  is 
produced. 


THE    STAGE-COACH. 


HAVING  tried  the  strength  of  my  lungs  and 
the  patience  of  an  indulgent  assembly,  for 
more  than  an  hour,  and  having  engaged  my 
passage  in  the  coach,  which  starts  at  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  for  the  village  of 

,  I  returned  to  my  inn,  and, 

requesting  the  bar-keeper  to  have  me  called 
in  season,  was  shown  to  my  apartment.  I 
perceived,  with  some  surprise  and  regret,  that 
there  were  three  single  beds  in  the  chamber, 
and  one  barely  large  enough  to  accommodate 
two  persons  of  moderate  stature,  who  were 
sufficiently  disciplined  to  be  content  with 
their  respective  allotments.  The  single  beds 
were  occupied. — Upon  our  entry,  —  "  'Pon 
my  voord,"  exclaimed  one  of  the  sleepers 


O        \»i  Lt  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

jumping  out  of  bed,  "  it  ish  de  stage  come 
for  me  ;  vat  ish  de  time,  sare  ?" — "  No,  no," 
said  the  bar-keeper;  "it's  not  eleven  yet; 
your  stage  will  not  be  along  for  several 
hours."  — "  Sare,  I  tank  you  for  your  polite 
ness  ;  a  leetil  more  sleep  I  vill  'ave ; "  and 
he  stepped  back  into  his  bed,  with  a  bow, 
which,  however  graceful  it  might  have  been, 
in  the  costume  of  the  drawing-room,  appeared 
supereminently  ridiculous  in  his  robe  de  nuit. 
— "  Heigh-ho!"  said  another,  as  he  turned 
over,  somewhat  impatiently,  in  his  bed. — 
"  You  have  no  objection,  I  suppose,  sir," 
said  the  bar-keeper,  addressing  me,  "to 
sleeping  with  another  gentleman." — "  I  have, 
sir,"  said  I;  "and  you  know  well  enough, 
that  you  have  no  right  to  suppose  any  such 
thing ;  for  I  engaged  a  single  bed,  and  you 
promised  me  that  I  should  have  it." — "  Why, 
yes,  sir,"  he  replied;  "but  it's  court  week, 
and  we  are  very  full  to-night.  To-morrow 
night,  sir,  we  can  give  you  a  single  bed,  and 
a  room  to  yourself."  —  "My  friend,"  said  I, 
"  I  cannot  conveniently  wait  till  to-morrow 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  9 

night,  before  I  go  to  bed,  for  I  am  very 
weary.  I  shall  pay  your  bill,  when  you  call 
me  in  the  morning,  and,  according  to  your 
engagement,  you  must  permit  me  to  sleep 
alone." — "Very  well,  sir,"  said  the  bar 
keeper,  shutting  the  door,  as  he  retired,  with 
unnecessary  violence.  —  "  You  sarve  'im  right, 
sare,"  cried  the  Frenchman,  for  such  his 
dialect  proclaimed  him  to  be ;  "  vat  he 
prornish  you,  dat  he  must  parform:  dat  ish 
de  law  of  France ;  so  it  ish  in  England,  and 
de  Low  Countries,  and  indeed,  sare,  wherever 
I  has  been.  I  vill  be  your  vitness,  sare,  wiz 
great  pleasure,  of  all  vat  he  say.  If  I  vas 
not  in  bed,  sare,  I  would  have  de  satisfaction 
to  hand  you  my  card,  but  de  morning  vill  do." 
— "Yes,  yes,"  said  I,  desirous  of  getting  rid 
of  this  troublesome  fellow,  "  the  morning  will 
do."  —  I  was  soon  undressed,  and  in  bed.  I 
turned  upon  my  side,  in  the  very  centre  of  it. 
For  the  purpose  of  satisfying  any  new-comer, 
that,  in  the  language  of  certain  placards  on 
the  doors  of  manufactories,  there  was  no 
admittance,  except  on  business,  I  disposed  my 


10  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

limbs,  as  nearly  as  possible,  in  the  form  of 
the  very  last  letter  in  the  alphabet. — I  was 
striving  to  sleep,  when  I  was  again  aroused 
by  my  unknown  friend: — " Monsieur, — 
mistare, — I  regret  I  cannot  call  your  name, 
sare, — you  vill  excuse  de  omission."  — 
"What  do  you  want?"  said  I,  with  some 
impatience.  — "  Vat  I  vant?"  said  he,  "not- 
ting,  sare,  only  about  de  card ;  I  go  off  so 
long  afore  de  day,  dat  I  vas  fear  I  should  not 
be  able  to  hand  you  my  card,  wizout  dis 
turbing  your  rapose."  —  "I  care  nothing 
about  the  card,"  said  I ;  "  I  wish  to  sleep,  if 
possible." — "  So  do  I,"  cried  the  person  who 
had  shown  some  impatience  upon  our  first 
entry,  "  and  I'll  be  much  obliged  to  you, 
mister,  if  you'll  stop  your  outlandish  powwow 
till  daylight." — "Vary  veil,  sare,"  cried  the 
Frenchman ;  and,  after  humming  the  fraction 
of  a  tune,  for  a  few  seconds,  to  conceal  his 
irritation,  he  remained  perfectly  silent. 

During  this  period,  the  occupant  of  the 
other  single  bed,  an  experienced  traveller,  no 
doubt,  gave  intelligible  evidence  of  his  pro- 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  11 

found  slumber,  by  snoring  energetically.  I 
was  totally  unaccustomed  to  this  nocturnal 
annoyance,  and  found  it  impossible  to  sleep. 
I  had  not  remained  long,  ruminating  upon  my 
ill  fortune,  when  the  person  who  had  silenced 
the  Frenchman,  struck  in  with  his  nasal 
bassoon,  in  such  an  extraordinary  manner, 
that,  at  first,  1  really  supposed  it  to  be  the 
performance  of  a  waking  wag,  who,  finding 
sleep  impracticable,  had  resolved,  for  his 
amusement,  to  make  night  as  hideous  as 
possible.  Its  long  continuance,  however, 
satisfied  me  that  it  was  no  joke,  but  an  awful 
reality.  Now  and  then,  it  was  even  alarm 
ingly  stertorous  and  apoplectic.  The  inspi 
ration  of  one  of  these  trumpeters  was  so 
precisely  coincident  with  the  expiration  of  the 
other,  that  the  sound  became  perfectly  con 
tinuous.  We  are,  some  of  us,  so  constituted, 
that,  when  our  troubles  are  not  of  an  aggra 
vated  nature,  misery  will  occasionally  be 
converted  into  mirth.  Vexed  and  disap 
pointed  as  I  was,  I  found  myself  exceedingly 
disposed  to  laugh  outright.  At  length,  the 


12  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

loudest  snorer  suddenly  suspended  his  opera 
tions,  and  the  Frenchman,  who,  I  had 
supposed,  was  fast  asleep,  exclaimed,  "  Tank 
Haven,  von  of  dem  ish  dead."  This  stroke 
of  humor  was  perfectly  irresistible,  and  the 
loud  laughter,  which  it  drew  from  me, 
awakened  the  whole  group.  "What  d'ye 
make  such  a  noise  for?"  cried  the  stertorous 
gentleman ;  "  can't  you  let  a  body  sleep  in 
peace?" — "Veil,  veil,  sare,"  cried  the 
Frenchman,  as  he  turned  over,  "  now,  maype, 
ve  vill  tak  a  fair  start  vonce  more." 

The  vis  inertia  within  me,  which,  for  the 
present  occasion,  at  least,  may  be  translated 
the  energy  of  drowsiness,  enabled  me  to  lock 
fast  my  senses,  before  the  serenade  recom 
menced.  The  powers  of  slumber  seemed 
determined  to  make  up,  in  profoundness,  all 
which  they  had  lost  in  time.  The  quality 
of  sleep  is  often  of  more  importance  than  the 
quantity.  From  such  deep,  deathlike  slum 
ber,  it  is  exceedingly  painful  to  be  suddenly 
aroused.  The  sensation  was  eminently  dis 
agreeable,  therefore,  when  1  was  awakened 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  13 

by  a  violent  shake  of  the  shoulder.  I  sup 
posed  I  had  overslept  myself,  and  asked 
if  the  stage  was  ready.  —  "I've  been  trying 
to  wake  you,  mister,  for  ten  minutes,"  was 
the  reply ;  "  and  I'm  most  froze,  standing  in 
the  cold.  Won't  you  jest  move  to  your  side 
of  the  bed." — I  now  began  to  comprehend 
the  case,  and,  rubbing  my  eyes,  beheld  an 
uncommonly  corpulent  man,  who  had  un 
dressed  himself  for  the  night.  He  had  one 
foot  on  the  frame  of  the  bed,  and  held  the 
candle  in  his  hand,  which  he  was  just  ready 
to  extinguish. — "  Sir,"  said  I,  "you  have 
been  imposed  on.  I  have  engaged  this  bed 
for  myself,  and  shall  not  consent  to  your 
getting  into  it."  —  "This  is  pretty  tough," 
said  he;  "I'm  froze  to  death,  a'most." — 
"  You  had  better  call  the  inn-keeper,  and  get 
him  to  accommodate  you  elsewhere,"  said  I. 
— "I'm  fear'd  he's  gone  to  bed,  and  all  shot 
up,"  said  the  poor  fellow ;  "  howsomesever, 
I'll  try."  —  He  did  try,  and  he  certainly 
succeeded.  He  rushed  into  the  centre  of  the 
entry,  in  his  undress,  and  holloaed  at  the  top 


14  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

of  his  lungs: — "Holloa!  Mr.  StufTem, 
holloa  !  This  ere  man  won't  let  me  get  into 
bed,  holloa !  holloa  ! " — The  disturbance 
which  followed,  so  far  as  I  could  judge,  was 

ther  extensive.  I  heard  voices  in  all  parts 
the  house ;  doors  were  opened  in  all 
directions.  "Is  it  fire?"  inquired  a  female 
voice. — "What's  to  pay  there?"  cried  the 
host.  —  "Stage  come, — hey?"  cried  several 
persons  at  once.  At  length,  the  bar-keeper 
appeared,  explained  the  cause  of  the  disturb 
ance,  and  led  off  his  shivering  customer  to 
another  apartment. 

We  had  scarcely  recovered  from  this 
annoyance,  before  the  chamber  door  was 
opened  by  the  porter  with  a  light:  — 
"Eastern  mail's  coming, — hear  the  horn 
on  the  hill  now, — French  gentleman's  bag 
gage  ready?" — "Dat  ish  myself,"  cried  the 
Frenchman,  leaping  out  of  bed.  —  "Where's 
your  baggage,  sir?" — "Baggage?  —  vat  you 
mean — de  big  tronk? — no,  sare,  me  no 
have  'em.  I  vill  bring  down  my  baggage 
wiz  myself,  sare." — "You'll  have  to  make 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  15 

haste, — the  mail  only  stops  three  minutes  to 
shift  horses." — "Tree  minnit !  —  no  more? 
— 'pon  my  voord!"  —  The  little  Frenchman 
made  all  possible  expedition.  In  a  short 
time,  the  porter's  voice  was  again  heard  at 
the  door:  —  "All  ready — mail  can't  wait." 
— "  Immadiately,  sare,"  cried  the  French 
man;  "whew,  whew,  whew, — come,  Ga- 
brielle."  Upon  this  signal,  a  lapdog  sprang 
out  of  the  bed,  and  shook  its  shaggy  locks 
and  tinkling  bell.  The  Frenchman  seized  a 
little  bundle,  which  probably  contained  the 
bulk  of  his  earthly  possessions,  real,  personal, 
and  mixed,  placed  upon  his  left  arm  a  leather 
fiddle-case,  and  the  favorite  Gabrielle,  and, 
as  he  hurried  from  the  room,  stopped  for  an 
instant  at  my  bedside,  to  say,  "  Sare,  dis  ish 
my  card,  vich  I  have  de  honor  to  present ; 
adieu,  monsieur."  Down  ran  the  little 
Frenchman,  and  in  a  moment  I  heard  the 
coach  door  close,  the  crack  of  the  whip,  and 
the  rumbling  of  the  wheels,  as  the  vehicle 
rolled  away  over  the  rough,  frozen  ground. 
I  looked  at  my  watch; — it  was  half  past 


16 


THE    STAGE-COACH. 


two  o'clock.  Half  an  hour  remained  to  me, 
before  the  arrival  of  the  northern  stage.  As 
1  have  always  felt  no  inconsiderable  degree 
of  embarrassment  and  chagrin,  when  others, 
high  or  low,  have  been  detained  on  account 
of  my  delay,  I  rose  and  began  to  dress 
myself.  —  I  had  just  finished  my  toilet,  and 
strapped  my  trunk,  when  the  vehicle  arrived. 
The  porter  met  me  at  the  door.  «  Ay,  sir," 
said  he,  as  he  threw  my  baggage  upon  his 
shoulder,  "I  wish  all  other  folks  was  as 
punctual  as  your  honor."  —  "Well,  my 
friend,"  I  replied,  "  if  the  past  night  is  a  fair 
sample  of  those  which  are  to  come,  there 
will  be  little  sleeping  in  this  house,  and  you 
will,  of  course,  be  spared  the  trouble  of 
waking  your  guests." — It  was  extremely 
dark.  A  little  personal  contact,  as  I  entered 
the  coach,  assured  me  that  there  were  other 
passengers  there.  I  was  much  pleased  to 
find  that  my  favorite  seat  was  unoccupied. 
Having  no  partiality  for  a  back  seat,  I  prefer 
to  place  myself  where  I  shall  be  least  liable 
to  interruption,  upon  the  subsequent  intro- 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  17 

duction  of  elderly  persons  or  females.  I  was 
soon  firmly  planted  in  a  corner  of  the  front 
seat,  with  my  back  towards  the  horses,  and 
my  right  shoulder  to  the  canvass.  It  was 
very  cold ;  the  floor,  however,  was  abundant 
ly  supplied  with  straw  for  the  comfort  of  our 
feet;  and  the  coach  was  made  as  close  as 
possible.  —  "Frosty  morning,"  said  one  of 
the  company,  shortly  after  we  had  started  on 
our  way.  This,  however,  as  Goldsmith 
pleasantly  observes,  in  his  history  of  the  club 
of  savans,  having  been  addressed  to  no  one 
in  particular,  no  one  felt  himself  bound  to 
answer  it.  We  had  not  ridden  far,  before 
the  smell  of  brandy  became  very  perceptible. 
The  present  exhibition  of  any  instrument, 
which  has  been  employed  for  the  destruction 
of  a  friend  or  neighbor,  is,  of  course,  exceed 
ingly  revolting.  I  once  knew  an  amiable 
woman,  who  was  immediately  reduced  to  a 
condition  of  palpable  misery,  by  the  slightest 
effluvium  of  musk,  because  her  infant  child 
had  been  destroyed,  though  many  years  be 
fore,  by  its  injudicious  administration,  under 


18  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

the  direction  of  an  unskilful  physician.  I 
have  read,  in  a  work  of  high  reputation,  an 
account  of  a  gentleman,  whose  nervous  sys 
tem  was  by  no  means  remarkably  excitable 
on  common  occasions,  but  who  instantly 
fainted,  at  the  smell  of  opium,  because  his 
only  daughter  had  fallen  a  victim  to  its 
accidental  employment  in  a  liquid  form. 
These  recollections  presented  themselves 
before  my  mind,  as  we  rode  along  in  silence, 
and  in  the  dark.  Wherefore  is  it  thus?  I 
inquired  within  myself.  Why  does  not  this 
disagreeable  odor — which,  by  the  way,  was 
becoming  more  powerful  every  moment,  as, 
in  our  closed  vehicle,  it  was  generated  much 
faster  than  it  could  possibly  escape  —  why 
does  not  this  odor  frequently  produce  the 
very  same  effects?  Brandy  has  destroyed 
millions  of  mankind.  Yet  I  have  known  a 
father,  whom  it  had  deprived  of  three  chil 
dren,  and  who  still  drank  it  with  delight, 
while  he  invoked  from  on  high,  or,  in  more 
accurate  language,  from  below,  innumerable 
curses  upon  the  temperance  reform.  I  have 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  19 

known  a  childless  widow,  whose  husband  and 
children  had  been  destroyed  by  this  fatal 
beverage,  still  place  the  poisoned  chalice  to 
her  lips,  and  apparently  prefer  its  odor  to 
that  of  the  rose  or  the  violet.  And  why  is  it 
thus?  The  shipwreck  of  a  hundred  emi 
grants,  and  the  loss  of  all  their  lives,  would, 
for  the  moment,  be  less  likely  to  abstract  the 
attention  of  the  busy  world  from  their  multi 
plied  engagements  and  cares,  than  the  fall 
and  consequent  destruction  of  a  single  aero 
naut,  in  the  centre  of  some  great  city.  The 
first  of  these  calamities  occurs  in  the  way 
of  profitable  business,  and  the  other  is  the 
result  of  an  idle  and  hazardous  experiment. 
The  first  announcement  of  the  bursting  of  a 
boiler,  and  the  consequent  death  of  a  single 
human  being,  when  circulated  through  the 
land,  produced  every  where  a  sensation  of 
astonishment  and  horror.  Steam-boats  were 
then  mere  problems,  and  locomotive  engines 
upon  rail-roads  were  unknown.  But  now 
they  have  become  established,  and  are  parts 
of  our  very  mode  of  existence.  They  have 


20  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

virtually  contributed  to  bring  the  ends  of  the 
earth  as  near  again  together,  as   they  were 
before  their   employment,  by  an    equivalent 
saving  of  time,  in  transitu.     They  are  justly 
ranked  among  the  most  productive  sources 
of  emolument.     To  be  sure,  the  loss  of  life, 
which  they  produce  at  the   present   day,  is 
enormous ;    but   it   seems   to   be   considered 
of  little  account,  beyond  a  brief  ejaculatory 
paragraph   in    some    public    journal,   whose 
editor  happens  not  to  be   interested   in   the 
stock.      They   are    profitable,    and    that    is 
enough.     The  indebtedness  of  the   concern 
for  so  much  human  flesh  and  blood,  sacrificed 
in  its  operations,  is  supposed  to  be  sufficiently 
balanced  by  the  profit,  which  the  speculation 
unquestionably     yields. — Brandy,    and     all 
other    intoxicating    liquors,   are    articles   of 
commerce.      They,    also,    individually    and 
collectively,     have     produced      innumerable 
deaths.     But   there   is   a   distinction   to   be 
considered  here,  which  is  obvious  and  broad : 
the  application  of  steam  power  is  eminently 
useful  to  mankind ;  those  who  are  engaged  in 


THE    STAGE-COACH. 


such  operations  as  are  connected  with  its  use, 
are  not  thereby  impelled,  as  by  an  irresistible 
demon,  to  the   commission  of  every  crime; 
they  are  not  necessarily  plunged   into  every 
species   of   misery;    and,   instead   of   being 
reduced   to   poverty,  they   are   in   the   way 
of   acquiring  their  daily  bread.     The  very 
reverse  of  all  this  is  true  in  regard  to  intoxi 
cating   liquor,  for  it  is  infinitely  worse    than 
useless   as   a   beverage.     Here,  then,  is   an 
extraordinary   condition   of   things.      If  the 
great  mass  of  those,  who  traffic  in  intoxicating 
drinks,  do  not  profess  to  be    Christians,  the 
great  majority  affect  to  be  tenacious  of  their 
reputation  as  moral  men ;  and  yet  they  stop 
not,  for  a  moment,  to  count  the  loss  of  health, 
and   property,    and    respectability,   and    life, 
temporal    and  eternal,  which  inevitably  fol 
lows,    as    a    consequence    of    their    traffic. 
Many  of  these  men,  who  would  repel  the 
general    charge   of    immorality,    are,   never 
theless,    perfectly   satisfied    with    a   vocation 
like  this.     Their  employment  is  lawful ;  and 
the  mass  of  wretchedness   and  loss  of  life, 


**  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

which  follow,  are  matters  to  be  settled  be 
tween  the  consumer  and  his  God  ! — The  end 
is  not  yet,  thought  I  ;  in  the  day  of  judg 
ment,  I  cannot  believe  it  will  be  determined 
precisely  thus. 

I  continued  to  ruminate  in  this  manner,  as 
we  rolled  silently  forward  in  the  dark,  until 
my  cogitations  were  interrupted  by  a  sound, 
precisely  similar  to  that,  produced  by  the  sud 
den  extraction  o/  a  cork  from  the  mouth  of  a 
bottle.  The  noise  manifestly  originated  within 
the  vehicle,  in  which  we  were  riding  ;  and  in 
a  very  few  seconds,  the  odor  of  the  brandy- 
cask  became  more  pungent  than  ever.  It 
really  appeared  to  me  a  measure  of  indecorum, 
amounting  almost  to  audacity,  in  the  present 
era  of  comparative  purification,  to  travel  with 
a  brandy-bottle  in  a  stage-coach,  and  delib 
erately  to  draw  the  cork  and  partake  of  its 
contents,  in  the  company  of  others.  After  a 
short  time,  the  effluvium  became  so  exceed 
ingly  disagreeable,  associated  as  it  was  with 
the  conviction,  that  it  came  into  rny  own 
nostrils,  hot  and  reeking,  and  doubly  dis- 


THE    STAGE-COACH. 


tilled,  from  the  gastric  apparatus  of  some  hu 
man  being,  that  I  resolved  to  let  down  the 
window  of  the  carriage. — "It  is  so  close," 
said  I,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  "  that  I 
presume  no  one  will  object  to  a  little  fresh 
ajr." — «  Dat   ish  a   goot  move,  mynheer," 
said  one  of  the  passengers,  in  a  rough  voice, 
whom,  from  his  language  and  accent,  I  sup 
posed  to  be  a  Dutchman.     I  have  often  re 
marked,  that,  when  the  suspicion  of  guilt  is 
suddenly  awakened,  in  a  miscellaneous  com 
pany,  the  offender  is  often  the  first  to  reply  to 
any  observation,   which  stimulates  the  con 
sciousness  of  obliquity. — In  the  language  of 
Paul,  I  "  wished  for  day"  that   I  might  be 
hold  the   visage   of  this  barbarian,  who  had 
thus  violated  the  rules  of  common  decency. 
But,  as  I  had  no  reason  to  expect  its  speedy 
approach,  I  rolled  myself  up  in  my  cloak,  and 
soon  fell  asleep.     My  slumber  was  once  or 
twice  partially  interrupted,  by  a  sort  of  im 
perfect  consciousness,  when  the  stage  occa 
sionally   stopped   upon  its    way.      When    I 
awoke,  there  was  barely  light  enough  to  ex- 


THE    STAGE-COACH. 

amine  my  watch,  and  I  was  gratified  to  find  I 
had,  for  nearly  two  hours,  enjoyed  unbroken 
slumber.  I  was  now  able  to  discover  the 
general  outlines  of  my  fellow-travellers.  Up 
on  the  back  seat,  were  three  females.  Upon 
my  left  hand,  and  on  the  same  seat  with  my 
self,  were  two  of  my  own  sex,  and  the  middle 
seat  was  occupied  by  two  others.  Day  now 
began  to  pour  in  upon  us  rapidly,  and  the 
dress  and  features  of  my  companions  were 
clearly  visible.  The  reader  may  rest  as 
sured,  that  I  kept  a  sharp  look-out  for  the 
Dutchman.  When  any  individual,  whom  we 
have  never  seen,  has  made  an  agreeable  im 
pression  upon  our  minds,  or  the  reverse,  imagi 
nation  delights  to  play  the  statuary,  and  exe 
cutes  a  model  of  the  original ;  but  how  very 
frequently  we  are  compelled  to  cast  it  down 
as  faithless  and  unjust !  Upon  the  present 
occasion,  however,  I  had  an  image  of  the 
Dutchman  in  my  mind,  which  proved  to  be 
tolerably  correct.  In  selecting  him  from  the 
group,  I  had  fixed  my  eyes  upon  a  heavy, 
round-shouldered  personage,  apparently  about 


THE    STAGE-COACH. 

five  and  fifty  years  of  age,  sitting  upon  the 
middle   seat ;    his   complexion,    though   red 
enough,  for  one  of  intemperate  habits,  was 
somewhat  clearer  than  I  should  have  expected. 
He  wore  a  comfortable  wrapper  of  huge  di 
mensions,  and  sat  with  both  hands  resting  on 
the  top  of  an  un  peeled  hickory  staff.     His 
ample  countenance  had  once  been  subjected 
to  the  ravages  of  the  small-pox.     His  eyes, 
which  were  uncommonly   small,  were  placed 
in  his  head,  in  the  most  unneighborly  manner, 
and  his  dark,  grizzly  hair,  which  was  very 
abundant,  hung  forth  in  every  direction,  from 
under   a  broad-brimmed  hat,  not  much  the 
worse  for  wear.     The  still  expression  of  his 
countenance  was  decidedly  severe.      I  was 
not  left  long  in  doubt,  if  I  had  singled  out 
the  Dutchman.     His  little  twinkling  eyes  no 
sooner  encountered  mine,  than  he  exclaimed, 
in  the  same  gruff  voice,  motioning  with  his 
head  towards  the  coach  window,  "  He  vill  pe 
foine  day."  —  I  replied  simply  by  nodding  as 
sent,  and  we  still  rode  on  in  silence.     By  his 
side,  upon  the  same  seat,  and  directly  oppo- 
3 


26  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

site  to  my  left-hand  neighbor,  sat  a  well- 
dressed  young  man.  He  upon  my  left  was  a 
grave  personage  in  black,  who  bore  evident 
marks  of  ill  health,  and  the  one  beyond,  upon 
the  same  seat,  was  apparently  a  gentleman, 
and,  as  I  conjectured,  over  seventy  years  of 
age.  One  of  the  females,  who  sat  in  that 
corner  of  the  stage,  which  was  diagonally 
opposite  to  mine,  possessed  uncommon  come 
liness  of  person.  I  judged  her  age  to  be 
about  four  or  five  and  twenty.  She  had  a 
Tuscan  straw  bonnet,  prettily  lined  and 
trimmed,  an  exceedingly  neat  riding-cloak, 
with  a  boa  round  her  neck,  and  a  travelling- 
basket  of  wicker  on  her  lap.  Immediately  next 
to  her,  sat  a  decently-dressed  woman  of  forty, 
bearing  in  her  countenance  those  peculiar 
characteristics,  which  can  never  be  mistaken, 
whether  we  encounter  them  in  the  over 
peopled  cellars  and  garrets  of  a  city,  or  upon 
their  secondary  emigration  to  the  far-away 
west,  and  which  mark,  beyond  the  possibility 
of  misconception,  a  native  of  the  Emerald 
Isle.  The  corner,  directly  opposite  to  me, 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  2*3 

was  occupied  by  a  much  younger  woman, 
who  had  still  the  marks  and  numbers  of  per 
sonal  beauty.  She  was  extremely  pale, 
however,  and  dressed  in  the  deepest  mourn 
ing. 

The  silence  of  our  journey  was  finally 
broken  by  the  elderly  gentleman,  who  sat  in 
the  corner,  on  my  left  hand. — "I  attended 
your  lecture  last  evening,  sir,"  said  he,  ad 
dressing  himself  to  me;  — " there  is  still  a 
great  amount  of  intemperance  in  our  coun 
try." —  "Yes,  sir,"  I  replied,  "  undoubtedly 
there  is  ;  but  I  think  we  are  apt  to  deceive 
ourselves,  in  regard  to  that  amount,  because 
our  attention  is,  at  the  present  day,  more 
likely  to  be  attracted  by  individual  cases,  than 
it  was  in  former  times."  While  I  uttered  this 
reply,  I  looked  steadily  at  the  Dutchman. 
He  discovered  not  the  slightest  evidence  of 
embarrassment,  but  instantly  exclaimed,  "  Dat 
ish  de  matter ;  von  trunkard  now  look  more 
pig,  nor  foorty  ven  I  vas  a  leetil  poy." — I 
was  at  first  astonished  at  this  fellow's  impu 
dence,  who  was  accustomed,  as  I  entertained 


THE    STAGE-COACH. 


not  the  shadow  of  a  doubt,  to  travel  with  his 
brandy-bottle  in  his  pocket ;  but  I  immediately 
recollected,  that  there  are  moderate  drinkers, 
who,  whatever  may  be  the  ultimate  result, 
have  not  the  slightest  apprehension  of  ever 
becoming  drunkards.  This  man,  thought  I, 
is  of  that  number.  —  "  I  never  fail,"  continued 
the  elderly  gentleman,  "  to  attend  these  lec 
tures,  for  I  think  highly  of  the  temperance 
reformation,  as  a  grand  moral  machine  ;  and 
I  have  a  sufficient  reason,  of  a  private  nature, 
for  bidding  it  God  speed.  Some  lecturers  deal 
in  nothing  but  statistics  from  beginning  to  end  ; 
others  appear  to  think,  that  intemperance,  and 
all  its  awful  effects,  are  legitimate  subjects 
for  mirth.  Now  I  cannot  think  so.  When  I 
was  a  boy,  I  used  to  laugh  at  the  serpentine 
movement  of  a  drunkard.  I  used  to  follow 
and  hoot  at  him,  as  he  staggered,  and  pelt 
him  perhaps,  when  he  fell  in  the  mire.  But, 
could  I  renew  my  youth  and  still  retain  my 
present  knowledge,  I  should  not  have  the 
heart  to  do  so  again.  When  I  see  a  poor 
drunkard,  at  the  present  day,  I  follow  him,  in 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  29 

imagination,  to  his  hovel  of  misery,  —  the 
trembling  wife,  the  victim  of  his  diabolical 
career,  appears  before  me ;  I  see  his  terrified 
children,  as  they  fly  at  his  approach,  and  I 
have  no  appetite  for  laughter."  —  "Poor 
childher !  dat  ish  roight,  mynheer,"  cried  the 
Dutchman,  as  he  raised  his  staff  a  few  inches, 
still  grasping  the  end  of  it  with  both  hands, 
and  bringing  its  lower  extremity  with  some 
violence  upon  the  floor.  —  This  is  an  extraor 
dinary  creature,  said  I  within  myself.  But  I 
was  still  more  perplexed,  when,  in  an  instant 
after,  I  saw  him  brush  the  tear  from  his  eye. 
After  all,  it  may  be  nothing  but  the  brandy, 
thought  I.  —  "Sir,"  continued  the  old  gen 
tleman,  still  addressing  himself  to  me,  "  there 
is  one  particular,  in  which  I  think  you  gentle 
men,  who  lecture  upon  temperance,  are 
strangely  mistaken ;  you  direct  your  remarks 
exclusively  to  your  own  sex,  as  though  you 
had  the  same  notions  of  intemperance  in 
women,  which  the  Athenians  entertained  of 
parricide,  and  supposed  the  crime  of  drunken 
ness  impracticable  by  females."  —  "  Why, 


30 


THE    STAGE-COACH. 


sir,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black,  who  sat  at 
my  elbow,  and  who  had  taken  no  part  in  the 
conversation  before,  "you  will  admit,  that 
such  cases  are  exceedingly  rare."  —  "No, 
sir,"  replied  the  elderly  gentleman,  "  I  shall 
admit  nothing  but  the  truth,  and  it  is  by  no 
means  true,  that  such  cases  are  exceedingly 
rare.  My  experience  in  public  and  private 
life,  for  many  years,  has  made  me  acquainted 
with  a  great  many  intemperate  women."  — 
At  this  moment,  the  Irish  lady  was  seized 
with  a  violent  fit  of  coughing.  —  "  Do  you  not 
think,  sir,"  inquired  the  gentleman  in  black, 
"  that  such  examples  are  rare,  among  the 
higher  orders  of  society  ?  "  —  «  As  far  as  my 
experience  has  gone,"  replied  the  other, "  there 
are  more  drunken  men,  among  the  lower,  than 
among  the  higher  classes.  I  believe  there 
are  not  so  many  drunken  women  in  the  lower 
ranks,  as  drunken  men,  but  there  are  very 
many.  Among  the  higher  classes,  I  believe 
the  proportion  of  the  drunken  women  to  the 
drunken  men  is  relatively  about  the  same. 
Every  vice  may  be  so  qualified,  and  adorned, 


THE    STAGE-COACH. 


31 


and  subtilized,  that  its  real  essence  may  be  as 
effectually  concealed,  as  the  principal  ingredi 
ent  in  a  quack  nostrum,  by  the  presence  of 
some  pungent,  essential  oil.  Vice  may  thus 
pass  unchallenged,  through  the  world.  Now 
and  then,  some  sturdy  herald  may  cry,  Who 
goes  there  !  But  such  evidences  of  fidelity, 
in  those  high  places,  where  sin  has  built  itself 
a  citadel,  are  not  often  the  passports  to  favor 
and  promotion.  Drunkenness  in  high  life, 
you  must  remember,  is  not  so  disgusting  a 
spectacle.  The  wife  of  a  common  laborer, 
drunk  with  rum,  stretched  upon  the  floor  of 
their  dirty  kennel,  and  surrounded  by  a  group 
of  filthy,  starving  children,  is  certainly  a  re 
volting  object.  But  a  fine  lady,  splendidly 
arrayed,  who  happens  to  be  made  garrulous, 
familiar,  inarticulate,  and  at  last  sillily  or  stu 
pidly  drunk  upon  Champagne,  or  whisky 
punch,  or  Madeira,  is  not  such  an  unattractive 
object  after  all.  — "Pray,  sir,"  again  in 
quired  the  gentleman  in  black,  "  what  do  you 
mean,  by  the  word  drunk,  in  these  examples  ? " 
«  I  mean  this,  sir,"  replied  the  other : 


32  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

"  when  a  female  is  in  such  a  condition,  that 
she  solicits  or  permits  familiarities,  by  word  or 
look,  from  the  other  sex,  which  she  would  not 
permit,  and  much  less  solicit,  were  it  not  for 
the  Champagne,  she  is  then  drunk.  But  this 
is  not  all,  sir :  go  and  ask  any  respectable 
female,  who  has  seen  much  of  gay,  fashiona 
ble  life,  if  the  wine,  and  hot  whisky  punch, 
and  liqueurs,  consumed  by  young  girls,  and  old 
girls,  and  married  ladies,  at  routs,  assemblies, 
and  balls,  are  not  frequently  used  in  such 
measure,  as  to  disturb  the  functions  of  the 
brain  and  nerves  in  an  obvious  manner,  and 
you  may  be  sure  of  an  affirmative  answer." 

During  this  conversation,  the  passengers, 
with  a  single  exception,  were  extremely  atten 
tive  to  the  old  gentleman's  remarks,  who 
spoke  with  the  air  of  a  man,  who  had 
witnessed  the  very  effects,  which  he  so 
naturally  described.  The  pretty  woman  in 
the  Tuscan  straw  had  been  sitting  for  some 
time  with  her  eyes  closed.  —  "  Female  drunk 
enness,"  continued  the  elderly  gentleman,  "is 
not  confined  to  the  two  extremities  of  social 


THE    STAGE-COACH. 


33 


life:   there  is  a  large  proportion  among  the 
middling  classes.     Why,  sir/'  said  he, "  I  have 
seen  a  well-dressed  young  female  of  that  rank 
of  society,  go  deliberately  to  a  tavern  bar, 
early  in  the  morning,  and  take  her  dram,  and 
have  her  brandy-bottle  filled  before  she  took 
her  seat  in  the  stage-coach."  —  "  Tonder ! " 
cried  the  Dutchman,  rolling  up  his  eyes. — 
At  this  moment,  the  young  woman  in  the 
Tuscan  appeared  to  awaken  from  her  slum 
bers.     She    drew   her    cloak   more    closely 
about  her  neck,  and  seemed  to  become  very 
suddenly  engaged  in  the  adjustment  of  her 
bonnet    and    curls.  —  "Sir,"   continued    the 
old  gentleman,  whose  experiences  were  like 
the  contents  of  the  widow's  cruise,  "  I  have 
known  this  very  young  woman,  of  whom  1 
now  speak,  within  half  an  hour  from  the  time 
when  she  took  her  first  dram  at  the  bar,  draw 
forth  the  stopper  of  the  casket,  that  contained 
her  jewel,  and  take  another,  as  she  travelled 
in    the    public   coach."  — "  Vy,  mynheer," 
exclaimed  the  Dutchman,  "  vat  a  salt  herring 
of  a   woman   dat  must   pe !"  — «  Mister," 


34  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

cried  the  young  woman  in  the  Tuscan,  ad 
dressing  the  elderly  gentleman,  with  an  ex 
pression  of  ill-nature,  "  why  can't  you  let  the 
women  alone,  and  talk  about  the  drunken 
men  ?  there  are  enough  to  serve  your  turn,  I'm 
sure."  —  "If  my  remarks  are  unpleasant  to 
you  or  any  other  person  in  the  carriage," 
replied  he,  with  much  suavity  of  manner,  "  I 
will  certainly  not  continue  them."  —  "I don't 
care  whether  you  do  or  not,"  she  rejoined  ; 
"  it's  very  ridiculous  for  you  to  tell  about 
women's  drinking  brandy  in  the  stage.  I 
don't  believe  it.  Here's  three  of  us ;  now 
which  was  it  ?  "  —  "I  have  made  no  accusa 
tion  against  any  person  present,  my  good 
woman,"  replied  the  old  gentleman.  —  "  Your 
good  woman  ! "  retorted  the  Tuscan  ;  "  I'm  not 
your  good  woman  neither,  by  a  great  sight, 
and  I  guess  now,  mister,  you  better  mind  your 
business,  and  hold  your  impudent  slack."  — 
"  Shlack  !  "  said  the  Dutchman  ;  "  vat  ish 
dat  ? "  as  he  lifted  up  his  hands  in  amaze 
ment,  and  half  timidly  turned  his  head  to  behold 
the  speaker.  —  The  old  gentleman  made  no 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  35 

reply,  but  his  uncommonly  expressive  coun 
tenance  was  full  of  things  unutterable. — 
Here,  then,  was  an  eclair cissement.  Of  course 
I  had  done  manifest  injustice  to  the  poor 
Dutchman,  for  which  I  would  most  cheerfully 
have  craved  his  pardon.  We  rode  on,  for  a 
few  moments,  in  silence  ;  the  interchange  of 
glances  among  the  company  establishing  the 
fact,  that  not  a  doubt  remained  in  regard  to 
the  real  nature  of  the  case,  or  the  identity  of 
the  guilty  party. 

During  the  short  silence,  which  ensued,  I 
turned  my  eyes  upon  this  young  woman, 
whom  I  had  thought  so  uncommonly  pretty  ; 
a  marvellous  change  had  taken  place  in  her 
appearance,  within  a  brief  space,  or  the  new 
associations,  which  had  arisen  in  my  mind  in 
regard  to  her,  had  operated  strangely  upon  my 
powers  of  vision.  In  her  agitation,  she  had 
thrown  her  dress  into  some  little  disorder: 
her  hair  had  fallen  down  ;  and  her  bon 
net,  accidentally,  or  perhaps  to  avoid  our 
scrutiny,  had  become  drawn  to  one  side  of  her 
face.  She  seemed  not  to  sit  very  firmly  in 


36 


THE    STAGE-COACH. 


her  seat.  Occasionally  I  obtained  a  fair  view 
of  her  features.  I  could  not  doubt,  that  the 
brandy  she  had  taken,  upon  an  empty 
stomach,  had  already  affected  the  brain  and 
nerves.  Her  eyes  had  lost  a  portion  of  their 
brilliancy ;  her  color  was  heightened  to  a  re* 
markable  degree,  undoubtedly  in  part  from 
anger  ;  her  lips  were  apart,  and  wore  that  dry, 
yet  varnished  appearance,  which  is  not  unusual 
with  intoxicated  persons ;  and  the  general  ex 
pression  of  her  features  was  characterized  by 
that  air  of  defiance,  which  is  not  unfrequently 
exhibited  by  a  guilty  person,  who,  though 
conscious  of  being  suspected,  is  still  confident 
in  the  insufficiency  of  the  evidence  against 
him.  While  I  was  occupied  in  contemplat 
ing  her  countenance,  some  movable  article, 
upon  the  floor  of  the  vehicle,  now  and  then 
struck  against  my  foot :  I  cast  down  my  eyes 
to  ascertain  the  cause,  and  observed  a  flat  bot 
tle,  of  that  description,  which,  in  the  cant 
dialect  of  travellers,  is  called  a  pistol.  It  was 
about  half  full  of  some  dark-colored  liquor. 
I  had  no  doubt  that  it  was  our  fair  Tuscan's 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  37 

bottle,  and  that  its  contents  were  brandy.  A 
rapid  combination  of  circumstances  instantly 
accounted  for  its  present  location  on  the  floor ; 
her  willow  basket,  to  which  I  have  already 
alluded,  was  provided  with  a  cover  opening  on 
each  side ;  it  rested  on  her  lap  ;  the  jolting  of 
the  carnage,  and  the  difficulty  of  keeping  her 
balance,  had  canted  the  basket ;  the  cover,  on 
the  side  towards  me,  had  fallen  open  ;  the 
bottle  had  escaped,  and,  sliding  softly  over 
her  cloak,  had  fallen,  unnoticed,  upon  the 
straw.  I  took  it  up,  unobserved  by  her,  and 
placed  it  in  the  corner  of  the  carriage  behind 
me. 

Our  elderly  companion,  who  had  been 
completely  silenced,  by  the  unexpected  harsh 
ness  of  the  Tuscan's  retort  upon  him,  felt 
himself  sufficiently  strengthened,  by  this  little 
incident,  which  occurred  under  his  eye,  to 
renew  the  conversation.  "  We  are  not  far 
from  the  inn,  where  we  breakfast,"  said  he, 
looking  at  his  watch  ;  "  I  shall  relish  a  dish  of 
coffee,  and  those,  who  prefer  brandy,  I  have 


38  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

no  doubt ,  will  be  accommodated,  for  the 
temperance  reform  has  effected  very  little 
here,  among  the  hills."  —  "Mister,"  said  the 
Tuscan,  "  I  guess  you  love  brandy  as  well  as 
other  folks.  If  you'll  only  have  patience  till 
you  get  to  the  tavern,  you'll  get  a  plenty,  and 
I  guess  there's  none  any  nearer."  —  "  Young 
woman,  I  believe  you  are  mistaken,"  said  I, 
holding  up  the  brandy-bottle  before  her  eyes. 
—  The  effect  was  electrical.  It  would  be  no 
easy  matter  to  describe  the  expression  of  her 
features  at  that  moment.  She  uttered  not  a 
syllable.  Amazement,  that  her  own  brandy- 
bottle  should  have  gotten  into  my  possession, 
and  be  thus  suddenly  produced  to  testify 
against  her,  mingled  with  an  almost  idiotic 
smile  or  rather  grin  of  half-drunken  shame. — 
"  I  will  not  inquire,"  continued  1,  addressing 
this  unhappy  creature,  "  if  this  bottle  of  brandy 
is  yours,  for  you  have  asserted  that  there  was 
none  nearer  than  the  tavern.  Is  it  yours,  sir  ? " 
addressing  the  young  man  who  sat  before 
me.  —  "  No,  sir,"  said  he,  "  I  never  saw  it  till 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  39 

yon  took  it  from  the  floor."  —  I  repeated  the 
inquiry  to  the  two  gentlemen  on  my  left, 
and  received  a  similar  reply.  —  "  Is  it  yours, 
sir?  "  said  I  to  the  Dutchman.  —  "No,  myn 
heer,  I  never  trink  em  more  nor  tirty-foor 
year."  —  I  inquired  of  the  young  lady  in 
black,  who  replied  by  a  faint  smile  and  a 
slight  movement  of  the  head.  —  No  one 
remained  but  the  Irish  woman ;  —  "Is  it 
yours  ?  "  said  I.  —  "  Indaad,  and  it  is  not, 
your  honor,"  said  she ;  "  its  not  myself  that 
wud  be  after  taking  the  crathur  along  wid  me 
that  a  way,  ye  may  be  sure ;  and  enough 
o'  the  misery  o'  thrinking  that  same's  hap- 
punt  to  me  and  mine  afore  now,  ye  may 
depind."  —  "Look  here,  mister,"  cried  the 
Tuscan,  resuming  the  offensive,  and  turning 
upon  me,  "  isn't  that  bottle  yours  ?  "  —  After 
the  laugh  had  subsided,  which  this  sally  pro 
duced, —  "  No,"  said  I,  "it  is  not,  and  if  it 
were,  1  should  be  one  of  the  most  inconsist 
ent  creatures  in  existence ;  for,  last  night,  I 
lectured  upon  temperance  ;  and  propose  to 
do  the  same  thing  to-night ;  but  let  us  see 


40  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

if  the  driver  can  give  us  any  explanation  of 
this  mystery.  Driver,"  continued  I,  putting 
forth  my  head,  and  addressing  an  uncommonly 
fine-looking  young  man,  who  was  driving  six 
in  hand,  "  we  have  found  a  bottle  of  brandy 
on  the  floor  of  your  coach  ;  does  it  belong  to 
you  ?  "  —  "  Me,  sir  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I 
have  nothing  to  do  with  such  desperate  stuff 
as  that ;  but  Til  take  charge  of  it,  sir."  —  I 
handed  him  the  bottle ;  and,  in  an  instant 
after,  a  crash,  as  it  struck  against  the  stone 
wall  at  the  road  side,  announced  its  fate.  — 
"  You've  broke  my  bottle  !  "  exclaimed  the 
Tuscan,  as  she  half  rose  from  her  seat.  — 
"  Dat  ish  droll  enough,"  said  the  Dutchman  ; 
"  it  ish  like  de  judgment  of  Solomon's  ;  nopody 
could  foind  vich  was  de  true  moder,  till  de 
leetil  chilt  was  to  be  cut  up."  —  The  coach 
now  stopped  at  the  inn  ;  and  this  unhappy 
young  woman,  after  alighting,  was  scarcely 
able  to  reach  the  door  without  assistance. 

After  we  were  seated  at  the  breakfast 
table,  some  one  inquired  of  the  girl  in  attend 
ance,  if  the  young  woman,  who  was  of  our 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  41 

company,  knew  that  breakfast  was  ready. 
"  Yes,  sir/'  was  the  reply ;  "  but  she  says 
she  is  not  very  well,  and  has  taken  a  cracker 
and  a  glass  of  brandy  and  water  by  herself." 
— As  we  sat  at  breakfast,  the  case  of  this 
young  offender  was  our  only  topic ;  and,  just 
before  we  rose  from  table,  the  girl  who 
waited,  and  who  had  evidently  taken  a  very 
natural  interest  in  our  conversation,  remarked, 
that  this  young  woman  had  requested  the 
bar-keeper  to  let  her  have  another  bottle  of 
brandy  ;  and,  when  he  told  her  that  the  other 
passengers  would  be  displeased,  if  a  female 
rode  in  the  coach  with  a  bottle  of  brandy, 
she  had  met  his  objection,  by  offering  to  ride 
outside  with  the  driver,  but  that  he  had  still 
persisted  in  his  refusal. 

We  all  agreed,  that  the  history  of  this 
unfortunate  being,  and  of  the  origin  of  the 
abominable  habit,  which  appeared  to  have 
obtained  entire  possession  of  her,  must  be 
extremely  interesting ;  and  the  task  of  gath 
ering  such  parts  of  it  from  her  own  mouth, 
as  she  might  be  induced,  by  kind  and  com- 
4 


THE    STAGE-COACH. 


passionate  inquiry,  to  reveal,  was  assigned  to 
me. — "I  fear,  sir,"  said  the  elderly  gentle 
man,  "you  will  find  her  so  very  stupid  from 
intoxication,  when  we  resume  our  seats  in  the 
carriage,  that  you  will  not  be  able  to  acquire 
much  knowledge  of  her  history." — "  I  reckon 
she's  an  old  offender,"  said  the  young  man. 
"  You  probably  reckon  then  without  your 
host,  my  young  friend,"  remarked  the  elderly 
gentleman ;  "  for  she  wears  not  the  marks 
and  numbers  of  one,  who  has  been  addicted 
to  the  habit  for  any  great  length  of  time."  — 
"  I  once  knew  a  case,"  said  the  gentleman  in 
black,  "  of  a  young  woman,  who  became 
intemperate  from-love." — "  Veil,  vary  veil," 
said  the  Dutchman,  "  vat  ish  de  case  here 
but  love  of  de  prandy?"  —  "Perhaps,"  re 
marked  the  young  lady  who  had  occupied 
the  corner  in  front  of  me, — "perhaps  she 
has  a  tyrant  for  her  lord  and  master."  — 
"  And  that  same  it  is,  to  be  sure ;  you've  jist 
got  a  teeste  o'  the  truth  o'  the  hull  mather, 
ye  may  be  sartain,"  cried  the  Irish  woman ; 
"there's  nathing  moor  detistable  contagious 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  43 

anonder  the  blissit  sun,  than  a  cantankerous, 
vile  felly  o'  a  husband,  what's  a  thrinking 
and  swearing,  and  moor  fuller  o'  divilment 
nor  a  bag  o'  fleas,  fro'  marning  to  night.  It's 
jist  what  the  leddy  has  spukken  ;  it's  a  tyrant 
o'  a  lard  and  maaster  what's  driven  the  poor 
sowl  to  her  present  perdition." — "May  pe 
so,"  said  the  Dutchman,  "  but,  of  all  de  pig 
tyrants  vat  I  ever  read  a  pout,  de  piggest 
tyrant  and  de  hardest  master  vas  von  Myn 
heer  Prandy-pottle." — "Stage  is  ready," 
cried  the  driver,  and  we  resumed  the  seats 
which  we  had  occupied  before. 

It  has  been  affirmed,  of  persons  partially 
inebriated,  —  rather,  perhaps,  in  the  language 
of  folly  than  of  philosophy,  —  that  drinking 
more  deeply  will  sober  them  again.  I  by  no 
means  assert,  that  any  such  cause  had  operat 
ed  upon  the  present  occasion ;  certain  it  is, 
however,  this  unfortunate  young  woman, 
when  we  resumed  our  journey,  had  undergone 
a  remarkable  change  in  her  personal  appear 
ance.  She  had  lost  entirely  that  expression 
of  defiance,  which  she  had  exhibited  before ; 


44  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

she  was  silent,  and  apparently  subdued.  It 
was  very  evident  that  she  had  been  weeping. 
But  what  more  faithless  than  a  drunkard's 
tears  ?  I  have  seen  them  flow  from  the  eyes 
of  an  intoxicated  man,  whose  tongue,  at  the 
moment,  stammered  forth  schemes  of  philan 
thropy,  which  failed  not  to  evaporate  with 
the  fumes  of  the  liquor  he  had  drunken.  1 
have  heard  of  a  wretched  individual,  who, 
during  a  period  of  religious  excitement,  had 
impressed  his  fond,  credulous  wife,  and  was 
probably  himself  impressed,  with  a  belief, 
that  he  had  reason  to  rejoice  in  the  hope  set 
before  him ;  but,  after  a  profiuvium  of  tears 
and  prayers,  confessed  to  his  inquiring  partner 
in  the  morning,  that  he  feared  "  it  was  nothing 
but  the  rum." — The  apparent  humiliation 
and  penitence  of  this  poor  woman,  seemed  to 
excite  the  sympathy  of  every  passenger, 
excepting  those  of  her  own  sex.  The  Irish 
lady,  in  particular,  turned  her  back  towards 
her,  as  far  as  her  relative  position  permitted, 
and  appeared  determined  to  give  her,  in  the 
Scottish  phrase,  the  "  cauld  showther."  This 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  45 

conduct,  in  females,  towards  offenders  of  their 
own  sex,  is  very  common,  and  arises  less  from 
the  absence  of  humanity  than  the  presence 
of  pride.  The  elderly  gentleman,  as  far  as 
I  could  judge  from  the  contemplation  of  his 
features,  appeared  to  regret  that  he  had 
contributed  to  place  her  in  her  present 
predicament.  The  Dutchman's  features  had 
again  become  buckled  up  into  that  expression 
of  severity,  which  they  bore  at  an  earlier 
period;  and  our  other  fellow-travellers  were 
evidently  solemnized. 

It  was  not  the  easiest  task  in  the  world,  to 
decide  upon  the  most  appropriate  mode  of 
executing  my  commission.  I  finally,  how 
ever,  decided  upon  that,  which  was  simple 
and  direct. — "Young  woman,"  said  I,  with 
a  tone  and  expression  of  kindness,  "  your 
fellow-travellers  profess  to  be  friends  of  the 
temperance  cause.  We  have  been  sincerely 
grieved  on  your  account ;  and,  as  it  is  now 
clear  beyond  a  doubt,  that  you  have  made  a 
free  use  of  brandy,  since  you  have  been  our 
companion,  we  are  desirous,  if  you  have  no 


46  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

objection,  to  know  something  of  the  origin 
of  this  habit."  She  raised  her  eyes  with  a 
look  of  distrust ;  but  the  cordial  compassion 
I  felt  for  her,  and  which  was  doubtless  indi 
cated  by  the  expression  upon  my  features  at 
the  moment,  served,  in  some  measure,  to 
dissipate  that  feeling.  "  It  is  a  source  of 
happiness  to  me,"  I  continued,  "  to  collect  a 
variety  of  interesting  facts  upon  the  subject 
of  intemperance,  and,  without  any  reference 
to  particular  persons,  to  present  these  facts 
before  the  world,  for  the  benefit  of  my  fellow- 
creatures.  I  believe  the  history  of  your  case 
must  be  an  interesting  one,  and  if  it  should  not 
pain  your  feelings  too  severely,  I  think  you 
would  be  willing  to  set  up  your  own  example 
as  a  beacon  for  others.  I  cannot  believe, 
from  all  I  see,  that  you  have  been  very  long 
addicted  to  this  habit." — "  I  never  drank 
any  spirit,"  she  replied, "  till  about  three  years 
ago,  just  after  my  youngest  child  was  born." 
She  uttered  this  reply  in  a  suppressed  tone 
of  voice,  and  with  evident  emotion.  —  "You 
have  been  married,  then? "said  I. — "Yes, 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  47 

sir,"  she  replied,  "  I  was  married  eight  years 
since." — «Is  your  husband  living?"  I  in 
quired. —  "I  suppose  he  is; — I  have  not 
seen  him  for  more  than  two  years." — "Does 
he  not  reside  at  home?"  said  I.  —  "No,  sir," 
she  answered,  "  he  left  me  about  two  years 
ago."  —  "Does  he  follow  the  seas?"  —  "He 
has  of  late  years,"  said  she.  —  "Two  years," 
I  continued,  "  is  a  long  time  ;  —  and  when  do 
you  expect  his  return?"  —  "I  don't  know 
that  he  ever  will  come  back,"  said  she.  —  At 
this  moment,  the  old  Dutchman  shook  his 
head ;  and,  when  I  turned  my  eyes  upon  the 
young  woman  again,  she  had  bowed  down 
her  face.  Her  bonnet  concealed  her  features, 
but  the  tears  were  falling  upon  her  cloak. 

After  a  brief  interval,  I  resumed  the  con 
versation.  "  I  am  fearful,"  said  I,  "  that  you 
have  a  bad,  perhaps,  an  intemperate,  hus 
band." —  My  remark  seemed  to  summon  her 
to  the  rescue.  Whatever  may  be  the  nature 
of  domestic  strife,  foreign  interference  is  rare 
ly  welcomed,  by  either  party.  —  "No,  sir," 
she  replied,  "  I  had  as  good  a  husband  as 


43  THE    STAGE-COACH, 

ever  lived,  and  there  never  was  a  more  tem 
perate  man.  He  was  a  member  of  the  Tem 
perance  Society.  My  husband  was  a  carpen 
ter,  and  worked  as  hard  as  any  manr  but  ha 
never  took  strong  drink  of  any  kind  ;  and,  if 
I  could  only  say  the  same  thing  of  myself,  we 
never  should  have  parted.  —  "  How  did  you 
first  contract  this  habit?"  said  L  —  "After 
my  last  child  was  born/'  she  replied,  "  I  had 
a  severe  fever,  and  was  brought  very  low. 
It  seemed  as  though  I  never  should  recover 
my  strength.  Our  doctor,  who  was  a  skilful 
old  gentleman,  said  nothing  would  raise  me 
so  soon  as  a  little  brandy.  My  husband  asked 
him  if  nothing  else  would  answer  as  well,  and 
was  much  opposed  to  my  taking  it.  But  the 
doctor  insisted  upon  it.  It  was  not  pleasant 
at  first,  but  I  soon  began  to  relish  it  with 
sugar ;  and,  after  a  month's  trial,  I  got  my 
self  into  such  a  state,  that  I  thought  I  couldn't 
live  without  it.  My  husband  was  greatly  dis 
tressed  about  it,  and  said  he  would  not  have 
it  in  the  house.  I  then  got  it  privately,  and 
the  habit  was  so  strong  upon  me,  that  I  used 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  49 

to  lie  awake  very  often,  thinking  bow  good  it 
would  taste  in  the  morning.  I  have  often 
said,  and  I  say  so  now,  that  I  would  give  the 
world,  if  it  were  mine,  to  be  cured  of  this 
hankering  after  strong  drink.  At  last,  my 
poor  children  "  —  "  Poor  leetil  childher  !  "  — 
cried  the  Dutchman,  as  he  brushed  away  the 
tear  from  his  eye  — "  My  poor  children," 
continued  the  woman,  "  began  to  suffer,  and 
my  husband  became  desperate.  At  one  time, 
he  would  try  to  coax  me  to  leave  it  off;  and, 
after  I  had  kept  myself  clear  of  it  for  a  week 
or  so,  he  would  make  me  a  present,  though 
he  could  poorly  afford  it.  At  another  time, 
when  I  could  hold  out  no  longer,  and  he  re 
turned  and  found  nothing  ready  for  dinner  or 
supper,  and  the  children  crying,  and  his  wife 
unfitted  for  every  thing,  he  would  talk  very 
harshly,  and  threaten  to  leave  me.  I  deserved 
it  all,"  said  she,  weeping  bitterly,  "and  I've 
thought,  if  he  should  come  back,  I  would  try 
to  do  better,  and  leave  it  off,  though  Pm 
afraid  I  should'nt  be  able  to.  I  never  thought 
he'd  really  go  away.  He  seemed,  at  last,  to 
5 


50  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

be  giving  the  matter  up.  He  let  me  go  on, 
pretty  much  as  I  pleased.  He  used  to  take 
the  two  elder  children,  upon  a  Sunday,  to 
meeting,  and  leave  me  at  home,  for  I  was 
ashamed  to  go  there,  as  folks  had  begun  to 
take  no  notice  of  me.  A  few  days  before  he 
went  off,  he  said  very  little  to  me,  but  seemed 
to  be  busy,  packing  his  chest.  I  thought  all 
this  was  done  to  scare  me ;  so  I  took  no  no 
tice  of  it.  He  finally  put  his  chest  upon  a 
wheelbarrow,  and  wheeled  it  away.  '  Good 
by,  John/  said  I,  for  I  thought  he  wasn't  in 
earnest ;  and  I  was  sure  he  wasn't,  when  I 
saw  him  coming  back,  in  about  an  hour,  with 
out  it.  I  told  him  he'd  made  a  short  voyage 
of  it.  He  said  nothing  —  not  a  word  —  but 
took  the  children  on  his  lap,  and  kissed  them, 
and  cried  over  them  as  if  his  heart  would 
break.  His  silence,  and  his  taking  on  so, 
worried  me  more  than  all  his  threats.  Next 
morning,  he  asked  me  to  take  the  three  chil 
dren,  and  go  with  him  to  see  his  mother,  who 
lived  about  a  mile  off.  So  I  got  ready.  We 
had  an  old  door  that  watched  round  the  house. 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  51 

My  husband  patted  the  dog.  '  Good  by, 
Cassar,'  said  he,  and  he  sobbed  out  loud  as 
he  said  it.  I  then  began  to  fear  he  was  really 
going ;  and,  as  I  thought  how  kindly  he  had 
always  used  me,  and  what  a  miserable  wife  I 
had  been  to  him,  I  couldn't  help  shedding 
tears.  But  I  said  nothing,  for  I  still  thought 
he  only  wanted  to  try  me.  When  we  got 
to  his  mother's,  I  saw  his  chest  outside  the 
gate.  We  went  in,  and  the  old  lady  began 
to  shed  tears,  but  said  not  a  word.  I  then 
thought  he  meant  to  leave  me.  He  looked 
at  the  clock,  and  said  it  was  about  time  for 
the  stage  to  come  ;  and,  turning  to  me,  he 
took  my  hand,  but  it  was  some  time  before  he 
could  speak.  At  last,  he  mastered  his  feel 
ings.  c  Fanny  ! '  said  he,  c  there's  but  one 
way  to  convince  you,  that  I'm  in  earnest,  and 
that  is  to  leave  you.  I  took  you  for  better  or 
worse,  but  I  didn't  take  you  for  a  drunkard, 
and  I  won't  live  with  you  as  such.  You  have 
often  said  you  was  willing  to  part,  and  could 
support  yourself,  if  I  would  support  the  chil 
dren,  and  you  have  agreed,  that  they  should 


52 


THE    STAGE-COACH. 


live  with  their  grandmother.  I've  sold  my 
tools  and  some  other  matters,  and  raised  a 
hundred  dollars,  which  I  have  placed  iiT  her 
care  for  their  use ;  and,  if  God  spares  my 
life,  they  shall  never  want.  When  she  writes 
me  word,  that  you  have  kept  clear  of  this 
habit  for  six  months,  I  will  gladly  come  back, 
but  never  till  then.'  While  he  was  speaking, 
the  stage  arrived,  and  I  saw  them  lashing  on 
his  chest.  —  I  then  had  no  longer  any  doubt. 
He  kissed  the  children  and  his  mother,  and 
rushed  out  of  the  house.  I  followed  him  to 
the  door.  c  O,  dear  John,'  said  I,  c  don't  go, 
don't  go,  John  ;  do  try  me  once  more  ;  '.but  he 
never  looked  back ;  and  the  stage  was  soon 
out  of  sight.  — (  He  is  a  cruel,  cold-hearted 
man, '  said  I,  as  I  sat  down  on  the  threshold 
of  the  door. — 'Fanny,'  said  his  mother,  as 
she  sat  wiping  her  eyes,  c  will  you  abide  by 
those  words  at  the  judgment  day  ? '  — '  No,' 
said  I,  after  a  short  pause,  '  he  is  the  kindest 
and  best  of  husbands  and  fathers.'  — c  Then, 
try,'  said  she,  '  to  kill  that  sinful  habit,  and 
win  back  your  happy  fireside.'  — c  I  will  try,' 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  53 

said  I ;  and  I  have  tried,  but  how  poorly  I 
have  succeeded,  you  all  know  too  well." 

When  the  poor  creature  had  finished  her 
narrative,  which  bore  irresistible  marks  of 
truth,  in  the  very  manner  of  its  delivery,  there 
was  not  an  unmoistened  eye  among  us  all. 
The  elderly  gentleman  gave  her  the  most  ad 
mirable  counsel.  The  old  Dutchman  turned 
round  and  gazed  upon  her,  while  the  tears 
trickled  down  his  weather-beaten  features : 
"  Mine  Got,"  he  exclaimed,  taking  off  his  hat 
with  an  air  of  the  deepest  reverence,  while 
he  spoke,  "  ven  vill  dere  pe  an  end  of  dish 
accursed  trade  !  Ven  vill  a  pody  leave  off 
selling  de  fires  of  hell  to  hish  neighbor  in  ex 
change  for  de  poor  leetil  childher's  pread  !  " 

I  learned  from  this  woman,  that,  after  her 
husband's  departure,  she  had  obtained  em 
ployment  in  a  manufactory  in  the  town  of 

.  Upon  my  return,  I  had 

occasion  to  stop  there ;  and,  having  ascer 
tained  her  name  from  the  way-bill,  I  dis 
covered  that  a  female,  bearing  the  same 


54  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

name,   had   been    discharged,   a  short   time 
before,  for  intemperance. 

In  the  course  of  some  remarks,  which  I 
made  upon  this  occasion,  I  alluded  to  the 
traffic  as  a  heart-sickening  employment. 
The  young  man  who  sat  immediately  before 
me,  admitted  that  it  was  such,  and  stated 
that  he  had  tended  a  country  dram-shop  for 
several  years.  He  was  a  shrewd  young  man, 
but  wholly  uneducated.  We  requested  him 
to  give  us  some  account  of  his  experience  in 
the  rum-selling  line,  which  he  did  substantial 
ly  as  follows. 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  55 


PART    SECOND. 


"  I  WAS  rising  twelve,  when  I  went  to  tend 
for  my  uncle,  'Zekiel  Snooks.  I  kept  with 
him  nine  years,  till  I  was  twenty-one,  lacking 
a  few  days.  Mother  didn't  altogether  like 
the  business ;  but  father  had  got  down  to 
heel,  and  they  thought  'twas  a  good  chance 
for  me  to  get  along  in  the  world.  Uncle 
Snooks,  when  I  first  went,  kept  a  pretty 
considerable  smart  sort  of  a  concern,  I  tell 
ye.  There  was  a'most  every  thing  there 
that  country  folks  wants,  from  a  ploughshare 
clean  down  to  a  silk  glove.  But  that  didn't 
last  a  great  while.  Arter  a  spell,  he  gin  up 
the  biggest  part  o'  sich  goods  as  was  not  a 
great  deal  called  for,  and  stuck  to  the  main 
chance.  No  man  knew  which  side  his  bread 
was  buttered  on  better  than  uncle  'Zekiel. 
He  was  up  early  and  late,  looking  arter 


56  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

things ;  he  never  lost  a  minute.  I  never 
knew  him  speak  my  whole  name  since  I  was 
born.  He  used  to  say  he  couldn't  spare 
time  for't.  c'Kiah/he  used  to  say,  when 
he  had  a  little  leisure  of  a  Sunday  night, 
arter  prayers,  — c  'Kiah,  my  lad,  you  must 
keep  the  run  o'  matters.  I've  lost  a  mint  o' 
money,  stocking  my  store  with  a  pack  o'  trash 
that  rusts,  or  rots,  or  goes  out  o'  fashion  afore 
it'll  sell.  When  folks  gets  a  leetle  down,  the 
farmers  scratch  up  their  ground  as  well  as 
they  can,  and  the  mechanics  tinker  along 
with  their  old  tools ;  and  their  wives  patch 
up  their  old  gowns  and  petticoats,  and  wear 
their  old  bonnets,  and  coax  the  holes  in  their 
stockings  clean  out  o'  sight.  The  squire, 
maybe,  turns  his  old  coat  two  or  three  times, 
afore  he'll  come  to  my  shop  to  buy  cloth  for 
a  new  one ;  and  the  doctor  runs  down  sugar, 
and  tea,  and  coffee,  jest  because  he  can't 
afford  'em.  But  there's  one  thing,  'Kiah, 
that  never  goes  out  o'  fashion,  and  that's  the 
good  stuff;  and  there's  nothing  that  brings  in 
a  profit  like  that.  New  England  is  the  great 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  57 

stand-by,  my  boy,  and  I  mean  to  look  to 
that,  as  the  main  chance.'  —  Uncle  'Zekiel 
was  a  pretty  good  sort  of  a  man  for  them 
days.  There  was  no  temperance  societies 
then,  as  I  know'd  on.  That  was  about  fifteen 
years  ago.  I  am  now  about  twenty-seven. 

"  Uncle  Snooks,  jest  about  a  year  arter  I 
went  to  tend  his  shop,  did  give  up  selling  a 
great  sight  o5  things,  that  he  used  to  have, 
and  got  to  sell  a  great  deal  more  liquor.  He 
sold  a  monstrous  sight  on  it,  for  a'most  every 
body  took  more  or  less,  in  them  times.  He 
made  a  great  profit,  as  I  thought ;  but,  some 
how  or  other,  he  grew  rather  poorer  every 
year.  Our  rum  cost  about  twenty  cents  '<* 
gallon,  afore  it  was  rectified." 

"  Vat  ish  dat  —  vat  you  mean  py  rec 
tified']"  inquired  the  old  Dutchman. 

"  Why,  uncle  'Zeik  used  to  rectify  all  the 
rum  he  bought,  by  adding  about  a  quarter 
part  of  fresh  spring  water,  and  then  we 
retailed  it  at  six  cents  a  glass,  —  a  pretty 
slick  profit,  any  how.  There  was  no  where 
else  to  go  in  our  town  ;  so  it  all  went  off  well 


58  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

enough,  —  nobody  grumbled.  Uncle  got 
cotched  once,  though,  confoundedly.  'Bijah 
Cody  cotched  him.  We  got  a  fresh  hogshead 
one  Saturday ;  and,  arter  we'd  shot  up  shop, 
uncle  Snooks  and  I  staid  to  rectify  it.  I 
never  could  tell  jest  how  it  happened,  but 
'Bijah  had  got  asleep  on  a  bag  of  meal  that 
was  on  the  floor  behind  the  settle,  and  we 
didn't  see  him  when  we  locked  ourselves  in. 
The  noise  we  made  a  shetting  up  waked  him, 
I  guess,  and  he  seed  the  whole  proceedings. 
We  drawed  off  about  sixteen  gallons  into  an 
empty  berril,  and  then  began  to  rectify  what 
remained  in  the  hogshead.  We  hadn't 
poured  in  more  than  four  or  five  gallons  of 
the  spring  wrater,  afore  'Bijah  set  up  a  haw, 
haw ;  — c  Holloa ! '  says  he,  i  let's  have  a 
thimble-full  afore  you  make  it  any  stronger.' 
—  Uncle  'Zeik,  ye  see,  was  a  member  of  the 
church,  and  he  felt  proper  bad,  I  know. 
The  drops  o'  sweat  stood  on  his  forehead  like 
rain-drops  on  a  cabbage-leaf,  arter  a  shower. 
— '  You  won't  make  no  noise  about  it, 
'Bijah,  will  ye  ? '  said  he.  — c  Haw,  haw, 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  59 

haw,  haw,  haw,'  said  'Bijah.  —  That  was  all 
uncle  'Zeik  could  get  out  of  him,  till  he  told 
him  he  should  have  as  much  as  he  wanted, 
whenever  he  called.  He  lived  four  years 
arter  that;  and  every  day,  foul  or  fair,  he 
worked  upon  our  dimijohns  and  berrils  like  a 
suction  hose.  Uncle  had  to  pay  the  tribute. 
'Bijah  was  confounded  impudent,  to  boot. 
He'd  bring  in  three  or  four  at  a  time ;  and, 
arter  treating  'em  all  to  as  much  liquor  as 
they'd  drink,  he'd  turn  round  to  uncle  Snooks 
and  tell  him  to  charge  it  to  his  petiklar 
account,  rolling  his  eyes,  and  running  his 
red  rag  into  the  side  of  his  cheek  in  such  an 
oddfangled  way  as  made  uncle  'Zeik  hang 
his  head  and  look  as  mean  and  small  as  a 
weasel.  I  used  to  think,  that  I  wouldn't  feel 
as  he  did  then,  for  the  vally  of  all  the  rum 
in  the  universe.  But  this  was  only  a  small 
touch  of  the  troubles  that  uncle  'Zeik  suf 
fered  in  the  rum  business.  —  Many  a  one,  that 
burnt  himself  up  with  rum  afore  he  died,  got 
his  first  glass  in  that  shop  ;  and  there  many  a 
poor  fellow  drank  his  last.  We  used  to  have 


60  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

raal  high  times  there  now  and  then.  Two 
thirds  of  all  the  quarrels  and  rights,  and 
a'most  all  the  lawsuits,  in  our  town,  I  guess, 
begun  in  uncle  'Zeik's  shop. 

"  There  was  no  talk  ahout  temperance  so 
cieties,  in  our  town,  at  that  time,  as  I  telPd  ye. 
So  long  as  a  body  could  pay  for  his  liquor,  no 
body  else  meddled  with  him  or  his  concerns. 
Now  and  then,  when  the  neighbors  thought 
any  one  drinkt  more  than  was  good  for  him, 
and  lickt  his  wife  too  much,  they  used  to  talk 
of  having  on  him  posted.  But  uncle  'Zeik 
was  one  of  the  slickmen,  and  took  his  part 
at  the  board  so  long  as  he  had  any  property, 
and  always  got  him  clear.  Sometimes,  a 
poor  fellow  would  be  hauled  up  afore  the 
church,  for  being  drunk  every  day  in  the 
week.  But  uncle  'Zeik,  who,  as  I  tell'd  ye, 
was  a  church-member,  and  kept  the  run 
of  every  body's  drinking  in  the  parish,  used 
to  make  it  out  that  he  wasn't  drunk  half  so 
often  as  every  day  in  the  week,  by  a  great 
sight ;  and  then  he'd  look  round  among  the 
church-members  present,  as  sharp  as  an  old 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  61 

hen-hawk,  and  say,  '  Let  him  who  is  entirely 
without  sin  in  this  respect,  cast  the  first  stone 
at  him.'  Then  there  used  to  be  sich  a  spell 
of  sneezing,  and  coughing,  and  snickering ; 
and  so  the  matter  dropped.  Church-mem 
bers  then,  and  ministers  too,  in  them  days, 
used  to  make  nothing  of  taking  a  comforting 
glass.  Our  minister,  Parson  Cogle,  seldom 
stopped  in  at  uncle  'Zeik's  shop  without 
tasting  a  little  Cogniac,  and  nobody  thought 
the  worse  on  him  for  that.  — c  How,'  said  he, 
one  day,  to  uncle  'Zeik,  c  how  do  you 
construe  the  law  which  forbids  you  to  permit 
persons  to  drink  to  excess  in  your  store, 
Mr.  Snooks  ? '  — c  I'm  raal  glad  to  hear  you 
propound  that  are  point/  said  uncle  'Zeik  ; 
4  there's  nothing,  to  my  notion,  half  so  diffi 
cult  in  all  Hebrews.  There  isn't  more  differ 
among  cattle  in  their  power  to  take  off  their 
load,  than  there  is  in  the  power  of  men  to 
take  off  their  liquor.  There's  Farmer 
Ridgerow, — half  a  mug  of  toddy  knocks  him 
right  up,  so  that  he  wouldn't  know  a  harrow 
from  a  hog's-troth.  Then  agin,  there's 


62  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

Squire  Pauncher, — he's  told  me,  many  a  day, 
when  IVe  ax'd  him,  jist  in  a  dilicate  way,  as 
I've  been  a  handing  him  the  fourth  or  fifth 
mug,  if  he  wasn't  afeard  'twould  set  a  leetle 
heavy  on  his  vitals,  —  he's  told  me  'pon  his 
honor,  that  he  didn't  feel  that  he  got  the  good 
of  the  liquor  at  all,  till  he  felt  it  somehow 
reach  the  right  spot.  The  squire's  a  man  of 
sense,  and  you  may  rely  on't,  parson,  it's  one 
of  the  most  difficult  things  in  natur,  to  say 
when  a  body's  drinking  to  excess.  The 
Ginral  Court  had  ought  to  make  this  matter 
more  plainer.  One  thing's  sartain,  —  when 
a  body's  drinkt  out  his  money,  here's  a  clear 
case  of  excess ;  and,  arter  a  good  deal  of 
thought,  I've  made  up  my  mind  that  this  was 
the  ginivine  meaning  of  the  legislatur.' 

"My  mother  used  to  say  very  often,  long 
afore  temperance  societies  came  into  vogue, 
that  selling  liquor  was  an  ugly  business :  and 
she  tried  hard  to  get  father's  consent  to  my 
leaving  uncle  'Zeik ;  but  he  wouldn't  agree 
to't.  She  had  the  right  on't.  'Twas  pretty 
tough ?  for  a  young  man,  who  got  nothing  but 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  63 

an  insight  into  the  tricks  of  a  trade  that  he 
didn't  relish,  to  look  on  and  see  how  it  worked. 
A  monstrous  number  of  likely  young  men, 
and  a  good  many  young  women  too,  was  used 
up  in  uncle  'Zeik's  shop,  while  I  was  'printice. 
The  first  liquor  they  took,  as  like  as  not,  was 
all  in  an  accidental  sort  of  a  way.  Uncle 
couldn't  make  change  into  a  few  cents,  and  so 
he'd  say,  <  Well,  it  isn't  exactly  the  price  of 
a  glass,  but  I  won't  stand  with  a  good  cus 
tomer  ; '  and  while  he  was  a  saying  so,  he'd 
fill  a  glass  and  reach  it  out,  and  afore  a  body 
could  think  whether  he  wanted  it  or  not, 
down  it  went,  and  so  the  ice  was  broken. 
'Twas  raal  melancholy  to  see  the  beginning 
and  end  of  some  on  'em,  from  the  time  they 
laid  down  the  dollar  for  six  cents  worth  of 
rum  and  the  rest  in  tea  and  sugar,  to  the  time 
when  they  laid  down  a  pistareen  for  three  cents 
worth  of  tea  and  the  rest  in  rum.  I've  some 
times  felt  a  kind  of  guilty  myself,  when  I've 
passed  a  castaway,  working  among  the  town's 
poor,  on  the  public  road,  with  his  bloated  face 
and  ragged  clothes ;  and  remembered  that  I 


64  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

handed  him  his  first  glass  in  uncle  'Zeik's  shop, 
when  he  was  an  industrious  and  happy  young 
man. 

"  Uncle  Snooks  had  a  pretty  hard  time  on 
it  sometimes,  when  the  women  folks  used  to 
come  and  plague  him,  about  not  selling  any 
more  to  their  husbands.  There  was  one 
Barny  Belcher,  who  drinkt  up  his  farm. 
They  used  to  say  his  old  cow  choked  him, 
because  he  sold  her  last  of  all  his  stock,  and 
died  in  a  fit,  while  he  was  drinking  the  very 
first  dram,  that  he  bought  with  the  money  he 
got  for  her.  Barny's  wife  tormented  uncle 
?Zeik  from  morning  to  night ;  and  her  perse 
cution,  together  with  the  loss  of  his  property, 
as  I  always  thought,  drove  him  out  of  his  busi 
ness  and  shortened  his  days.  She  was  a 
proper  firebrand,  though  she  never  took  any 
spirit  herself.  There  wasn't  a  happier  couple, 
in  our  parish,  when  they  were  first  married ; 
and  they  had  a  family  of  four  little  children, 
that  every  body  used  to  notice,  for  their  neat 
appearance.  I've  seen  'em  many  a  time,  of 
a  Sunday,  going  to  meeting,  hand  in  hand, 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  65 

and  all  four  abreast,  along  with  their  father 
and  mother.  Barny  was  a  very  thrifty  farmer, 
and  I  never  thought  he  was  the  man  to  die  a 
drunkard.  It  used  to  be  said,  that  there 
hadn't  been  a  likelier  couple  married  in  the 
parish,  for  many  years ;  for,  though  they  had 
almost  nothing  to  start  with,  yet  they  were, 
both  on  'em,  amazing  handsome  to  look  at ; 
they  were  as  smart  as  a  couple  of  steel  traps, 
and  very  industrious  into  the  bargain.  They 
did  surprising  well  for  several  years.  But  he 
got  to  be  an  insign,  and  rum  and  rigimentals 
did  the  business  for  poor  Barny,  in  less  than 
no  time.  —  When  he  got  to  be  pretty  bad, 
she  first  came  to  the  house,  and  then  to  the 
shop,  to  get  uncle  'Zeik  not  to  let  him  have 
any  more  liquor.  They  had  a  good  many 
talks  about  it,  but  uncle  'Zeik  would  have  his 
way.  At  last  she  consulted  a  lawyer,  and 
came  over  to  the  shop,  and  gave  uncle  'Zeik  a 
raal  dressing,  afore  more  than  a  dozen  custom 
ers.  —  <  Well,  Nelly  Belcher,'  said  uncle  'Zeik 
when  she  came  in,  resolved  to  be  beforehand 
with  her,  c  what  do  you  want  to-day?'  — 
6 


66  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

'  Mercy,'  said  she,  '  if  I  can't  have  justice. 
You  know  well  enough  what  I  want.  I  no\v 
request  you  once  again,  to  sell  my  husband  no 
more  spirit.'  —  'And  how  can  I  help  it?' 
said  uncle  'Zeik,  somewhat  disturbed  by  her 
resolute  manner.  —  '1  have  taken  a  lawyer's 
advice,'  said  she,  '  and  you  have  no  right  to 
sell  to  common  drunkards.'  — '  Do  you  say 
that  your  husband  is  a  common  drunkard  ? ' 
said  he.  —  'To  be  sure  I  do,'  she  replied. 
—  'I  really  do  not  think  your  husband  is  a 
common  drunkard,  Nelly  Belcher,'  said  uncle 
'Zeik.  — '  Snooks/  said  she,  clinching  her 
fist,  'you  are  —  what  you  are.  You  know- 
that  Barny's  a  common  drunkard,  and  you 
made  him  so,  you  old  —  licensed,  rum-selling 
church-member.'  — '  Go  out  of  my  shop,' 
cried  uncle  'Zeik,  stepping  towards  her.  — 
1  I  wouldn't  touch  the  poor  woman,  Mr. 
Snooks,'  said  one  of  the  company ;  '  she's 
driven  on  by  the  state  of  her  husband  and 
children.'  — '  Touch  the  poor  woman  ! '  cried 
Nelly,  stretching  herself  up,  —  and  she  was  the 
tallest  woman  in  the  parish,  —  'let  him  lay  the 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  67 

weight  of  his  rummy  finger  upon  me  if  he 
dares  ;  and,  though  I'm  poor  enough  in  purse, 
Heaven  knows,  I'll  show  him  that  I've  the 
spirit  of  my  father,  who  thrashed  him,  when 
he  was  eighteen,  for  stealing  a  sheep-skin.  I 
won't  go  out  of  his  shop,  nor  budge  an  inch, 
till  F\7e  said  my  say,  in  the  presence  of  ye 
all.'  — 'Nelly  Belcher,'  said  uncle  'Zeik, 
4  you'll  have  to  pay  for  this.'  — c  Pay  for  it ! ' 
cried  Nelly,  with  a  screaming  voice,  e  and 
havn't  you  got  your  pay  already?  Havn't you 
got  the  homestead,  and  the  stock,  and  the 
furniture?  And  didn't  Barny  pawn  the  chil 
dren's  clothes  last  Friday,  and  bring  you  every 
cent  that  he  got  for  'em  ?  You've  got  every 
thing,  from  the  ridge-pole  down ;  you've  got  it 
all  here,  among  your  wages  of  iniquity  ; '  and, 
as  she  said  this,  she  gave  a  blow,  with  her 
fist,  upon  the  top  of  uncle  'Zeik's  till,  that 
made  the  coppers  pretty  lively,  I  tell  ye.  — 
<  Snooks,'  said  she,  e  you've  got  every  thing. 
I  havn't  a  pint  of  meal  nor  a  peck  of  potatoes 
for  my  children.  Stop.  —  I'm  mistaken; 
there's  an  old  rum-jug  in  the  house,  that's  been 


68  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

in  your  sliop  often  enough ;  you  ought  to  have 
that ;  and  there's  a  ragged  straw-bed ;  you 
shall  have  'em  both,  and  any  thing  else  you'll 
find,  if  you  won't  let  Barny  have  any  more 
rum.  —  You've  made  your  bargain,  Snooks, 
your  own  way  ;  but  there's  a  third  party  to 
it,  and  that's  the  devil.  You've  got  poor 
Barny's  money  in  your  till,  and  the  devil's 
got  your  soul  in  his  fire-proof,  and  he'll  keep 
it  there  safe  enough,  till  the  day  of  judgment.' 
—  Uncle  'Zeik  offered  'Bijah  Cody  a  hand 
some  present,  if  he'd  turn  her  out  of  the 
shop.  — ( I'd  a  leetle  rather  not,  Mr.  Snooks,' 
answered  'Bijah,  with  a  look,  that  showed, 
plainly  enough,  how  much  he  enjoyed  uncle 
'Zeik's  torment.  —  'Look  here,  Nelly  Bel 
cher,'  said  uncle  'Zeik,  —  and  he  was  getting 
wrathy,  for  he  stamped  his  foot  pretty  con 
siderable  smart,  —  'the  second  Tuesday  of 
November  the  court  will  sit,  and  you  shall 
answer  for  this.'  — { What  care  I  for  your 
court  ? '  replied  she  ;  '  the  day  will  come,  and 
it  may  come  this  hour,  when  a  higher  court 
will  sit ;  and  you  shall  answer  for  more  than 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  69 

all  this  a  thousand  fold.  Then,  you  cold- 
hearted  old  man,  I  will  lead  my  poor  ragged 
children  before  the  bar  of  a  righteous  God, 
and  make  a  short  story  of  their  wrongs,  and 
of  that  poor  young  man's,  who  has  fallen  by 
your  hands,  just  as  surely,  as  though  you  had 
killed  him  with  ratsbane.  There's  not  one  of 
you  here,'  continued  Nelly,  ( that  doesn't 
remember  me  and  Barny  when  we  were 
married.  You  was  at  our  wedding,  'Bijah 
Cody,  and  so  was  you,  Lot  Mason.  Now  I 
ask  you  if  you  ever  dreamt  that  we  should 
come  to  this  ?  Was  there  ever  a  little  farm 
better  managed  ?  And,  if  I  was  not  a  careful, 
faithful,  industrious  wife  to  Barny,  I  wish  you 
to  say  the  very  worst  of  me  to  my  face.'  — 
'Nobody  doubts  it,  Nelly,'  said  'Bijah. — 
'  And  were  my  little  ones  ill  treated  ?  Hadn't 
they  whole  clothes  for  Sunday,  and  wasn't 
they  constant  at  meeting,  for  years,  till  this 
curse  crept  in  upon  us,  like  an  adder  ?  And, 
till  then,  did  ye  ever  see  a  likelier  man  than 
Barny?  And,  as  for  his  kindness  to  me  and 
the  children  till  that  hour,  it's  for  me  to  wit- 


70 


THE    STAGE-COACH. 


ness  ;  and  I  say  it  before  ye  all,  that,  before 
he  tasted  this  old  man's  liquor,  there  never 
was  a  hard  thought  or  a  bitter  word  between 
us.  He  was  the  boy  of  my  foolish  love, 
when  he  was  seventeen,  and  the  man  of  my 
choice,  when  he  was  three  and  twenty.  I 
gave  him  an  honest  heart,  that  never  loved 
another,  and  the  trifle  of  worldly  goods,  that 
my  old  mother  left  me  ;  but  he  has  broken 
the  one  and  squandered  the  other.  Last 
night,  as  I  lay  upon  my  straw-bed,  with  my 
poor  children,  I  thought  of  our  young  days, 
and  our  little  projects  of  happiness  ;  and,  as 
I  saw  poor  Barny,  in  my  fancy,  just  the  trim 
lad  that  he  was,  with  his  bright  eye  and  ruddy 
cheek,  I  felt  my  eyes  filling  with  tears,  as 
they're  filling  now.  I  hope  I  may  never  shed 
another,'  said  she,  dashing  them  off  with  the 
back  of  her  hand,  and  resuming  her  look  of 
vengeance.  — £  I'm  going  to  cross  your  thresh 
old,  for  the  last  time,  and  now  mark  me  well. 
I  ask  you,  once  for  all,  to  sell  poor  Barny  no 
more  liquor.  If  you  do,  I  will  curse  you  till  I 
die,  as  the  destroyer  of  my  husband;  and  I  will 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  71 

teach  my  children  to  curse  you  when  I  am 
dead,  as  the  destroyer  of  their  father.' 

"  '  She  ought  to  be  shut  up  as  a  common 
brawler,'  said  uncle  'Zeik,  as  she  left  the 
shop.  —  But  the  solemn  impression,  which 
poor  Nelly  had  made  upon  us  all,  prevent 
ed  us  from  saying  any  thing  to  comfort 
him.  — i  You  said  you  didn't  think  Barny 
Belcher  was  a  common  drunkard,'  said  Lot 
Mason.  — '  No  more  I  don't,'  replied  uncle 
'Zeik,  CI  consider  him  a  very  uncommon 
drunkard.'  — '  That's  rather  too  cold  a  joke 
for  my  stomach  just  now,'  said  'Bijah  Cody  ; 
and  he  walked  out  of  the  shop.  He,  ana 
Lot  Mason,  and  Barny,  used  to  be  great  cro 
nies,  formerly  ;  and  Nelly's  talk  had  reminded 
him  of  it.  'Bijah's  eyes  were  pretty  red, 
when  he  went  out,  and  he  hadn't  been  drink 
ing  neither.  He  never  came  into  the  shop 
after  that  day.  Two  or  three  others,  that 
were  there,  told  uncle  'Zeik,  that  they  thought 
he  was  wrong  to  sell  Barny  any  more  ;  and  the 
old  man  came  home  quite  sober,  and  down  in 
the  mouth.  He  had  a  horrid  nightmare  that 


rJ  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

night,  and  Miss  Snooks  said  she  had  to  shake 
him  a'most  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  afore  she 
could  stop  his  bawling  and  yelling.  He 
wouldn't  tell  his  dream  to  nobody  for  some 
time ;  but,  at  last,  he  got  superstitious,  and 
kind  of  confessed  it  to  Parson  Cogle,  who  told 
it  about  the  parish,  in  confidence.  It  seems 
uncle  'Zeik  dreamt  he  was  chased  all  night 
by  a  monstrous  hogshead  of  rum,  that  he'd 
rectified,  and  he  thought,  as  it  came  rolling 
down  hill  after  him,  that  it  would  crush  him 
to  atoms  every  minute. 

"  Uncle  Snooks  soon  forgot  his  dream,  and 
began  to  sell  rum  to  Bamy  Belcher  as  before, 
whenever  he  got  any  money.  It  was  thought, 
by  a  good  many,  that  Nelly  had  lost  her 
reason,  or  very  near  it,  about  that  time.  She 
soon  found  out,  that  Barny  got  rum  at  our 
shop  ;  and  sure  enough,  she  brought  her  four 
little  children,  and,  standing  close  to  the  shop 
door,  she  cursed  uncle  'Zeik,  and  made  them 
do  so  too.  It  worried  him  properly.  When 
ever  she  met  him  in  the  road,  she  used  to  stop 
short,  and  say  over  a  form  that  she  had,  in  a 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  73 

low  voice,  but  every  body  knew,  by  her 
raising  her  eyes  and  hands,  that  she  was  a 
cursing  uncle  'Zeik.  Very  few  blamed  her ; 
her  case  was  a  very  hard  one  ;  and  most 
folks  excused  her  on  the  score  of  her  mind's 
being  disordered  by  her  troubles.  But  even 
then,  she  made  her  children  obey  her,  whether 
she  was  present  or  absent,  though  it  was  said 
she  never  struck  'em  a  blow.  It  almost  made 
me  shudder  sometimes,  when  I've  seen  these 
children  meet  uncle  'Zeik.  They'd  get  out 
of  his  way  as  far  as  they  could ;  and,  when 
he'd  gone  by,  they'd  move  their  lips,  though 
you  couldn't  hear  a  word,  and  raise  up  their 
eyes  and  hands,  just  as  their  mother  had 
taught  'em.  When  I  thought  these  children 
were  calling  down  the  vengeance  of  Heaven 
upon  uncle  'Zeik,  for  having  made  them 
fatherless,  it  fairly  made  my  blood  run  cold. 
—  After  the  death  of  her  husband,  she  became 
very  melancholy,  and  a  great  deal  more  so, 
after  the  loss  of  her  two  younger  children. 
She  didn't  use  to  curse  uncle  'Zeik  after  that. 
But  she  always  had  a  talent  for  rhyming,  and 
7 


74  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

she  used  to  come  and  sit  upon  the  horse-block 
before  our  shop,  and  sing  a  sort  of  a  song, 
that  was  meant  to  worry  uncle  'Zeik,  and  it 
did  worry  him  dreadfully,  'specially  the  chorus. 
Whenever  he  heard  that,  he  seemed  to  forget 
what  he  was  about,  and  every  thing  went 
wrong.  'Twas  something  like  this :  — 

'  He  dug  a  pit,  as  deep  as  hell, 
And  into  it  many  a  drunkard  fell ; 
He  dug  the  pit,  for  sordid  pelf, 
And  into  that  pit  he'll  fall  himself.' 

One  time,  when  poor  Nelly  sung  the  chorus 
pretty  loud,  and  the  shop  was  rather  full, 
uncle  'Zeik  was  so  confused,  that  he  poured 
half  a  pint  of  rum,  that  he  had  measured  out, 
into  his  till,  and  dropped  the  change  into  the 
tin  pot,  and  handed  it  to  the  customer. 

"  I  raally  felt  for  him,  for,  about  this  time, 
two  of  his  sons  gave  him  a  sight  of  trouble. 
They  used  to  get  drunk,  and  fight  like  sar- 
pents.  They  shut  the  old  gentleman  down 
cellar  one  night,  and  one  on  'em,  when  he 
was  drunk,  slapped  his  father  in  the  face. 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  75 

They  did  nothing  but  run  him  into  debt ;  and, 
at  last,  he  got  to  taking  too  much  himself, 
jest  to  drown  care.  Dr.  Tilton  said,  that 
old  Nelly  was  right,  and  that  uncle  Snooks 
would  fall  into  his  own  pit,  afore  he  died.  — 
Mother,  at  last,  got  father's  consent,  that  I 
should  leave,  and  I've  been  in  an  English 
goods  store  ever  since.  Dr.  Tilton  often  said 
I  had  a  wonderful  escape.  If  I'd  had  as 
much  relish  for  liquor  as  most  folks,  I  s'pose 
I  should  have  got  into  the  pit  as  well  as  uncle 
'Zeik."  —  "  Ish  de  old  man  alive  now  ?  "  in 
quired  the  Dutchman.  —  "  Yes,  he's  living," 
said  the  narrator.  "After  the  Temperance 
Society  was  formed,  he  lost  his  license,  and 
got  to  be  starving  poor,  and  the  town  had  to 
maintain  him.  He's  been  crazy  for  several 
years.  I  went  to  see  him  last  winter  with 
father,  who's  tried  to  get  him  into  the  state 
hospital.  It  made  me  feel  ugly  to  see  him. 
He  didn't  know  me ;  but  all  the  time  I  was 
there,  he  kept  turning  his  thumb  and  finger 
as  though  he  was  drawing  liquor,  or  scoring  it 
down  with  a  bit  of  chalk  upon  the  wall.  It 


76  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

seemed  as  if  he'd  forgot  all  his  customers  but 
one ;  for,  though  the  wall  was  covered  with 
charges  of  rum,  and  brandy,  and  gin,  and  flip, 
and  toddy,  the  whole  was  set  down  agin 
Barny  Belcher."  —  "  Veil,"  said  the  Dutch 
man,  "jest  dat  vay  my  neighbor,  old  Peder 
Pendergrash,  kick  de  bucket.  He  trade  in  dat 
shtufF  more  nor  twenty  year.  He  vas  vary 
poor  at  de  last;  he  vas  vary  drunk;  and, 
afore  he  die,  he  vas  raven  all  de  time  about 
viskey." 

"  It  is  greatly  to  be  deplored,"  said  the  gen 
tleman  in  black,  who  sat  next  me,  "  that  the 
church  should  occasionally  be  made  to  suffer, 
through  the  misconduct  of  its  members."  — 
"It  is  so,"  said  the  elderly  gentleman,  "yet 
we  frequently  encounter  a  mawkish  sensibility 
upon  this  subject,  which  is  exceedingly  ridic 
ulous.  If  free  ships  make  free  goods,  it  by  no 
means  follows,  that  church  membership,  or 
the  pastoral  office,  forbids  the  right  of  search. 
Yet  there  are  certain  persons,  who  very  ab 
surdly  strive  to  conceal  the  follies  and  vices, 
which  occasionally  mark  unworthy  members, 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  77 

amid  the  great  mass  of  excellence,  which 
undeniably  characterizes  the  body.  Profess 
ing  Christians,  and  particularly  ministers  of 
the  gospel,  should  utterly  reject  the  idea  of 
casting  the  whole  amount  of  Christian  graces 
into  common  stock,  and  dividing  per  capita. 
We  are,  now  and  then,  compelled  to  make 
the  painful  discovery,  not  only  of  error,  but 
of  gross  and  abominable  sin,  among  professing 
Christians  ;  but  their  respectability,  as  a  body, 
defies  the  malicious  ingenuity  of  man.  There 
is  not  a  legitimate  branch  of  that  tree,  which 
Christ  planted,  to  which  this  remark  is  inap 
plicable.  Upon  the  body,  there  are,  undoubt 
edly,  excrescences,  unsightly  and  corrupt, 
and  their  existence  has  just  the  same  effect  in 
lessening  the  integrity  of  the  whole,  as  have 
the  mountains  of  the  earth,  in  lessening  its 
sphericality.  It  would  be  nothing  less  than 
folly  and  madness,  in  one,  who  labored  under 
a  cancer,  to  suffer  it  to  remain  unextirpated, 
lest  he  should  disclose  the  imperfection  of  a 
certain  portion  of  his  tabernacle.  None,  but 


78  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

a  pompous  and  vain-glorious  prelate,  will  ex 
pand  his  cassock,  and  display  the  apparatus  of 
his  order,  and  come  down  in  all  the  parade  of 
canonicals  to  the  rescue,  when  nothing  more  is 
proposed  than  an  inquiry  into  individual  char 
acter,  or  the  affixation  of  the  brand  of  public 
scorn  upon  a  convicted  hypocrite.  No,  sir, 
purgation  is  a  salutary  process,  and  I  am 
never  weary  of  seeing  rum-selling  deacons, 
church-wardens,  church-members,  and  guz 
zling  clergymen  exposed  to  the  public  gaze." 
—  "  If  dere  ish  not  good  sense  in  vat  dish  old 
gentleman  zay,  I  don  know  vere  he  ish," 
said  the  Dutchman.  "  I've  got  a  goot  minish- 
ter  now ;  he  trinks  de  colt  vater ;  he  needs 
notting  shtronger.  Ven  he  come  to  trink- 
ing  toddy,  den  I  vill  pe  my  own  minish- 
ter." 

"  I  agree  with  you  entirely,  sir,"  said  the 
gentleman  in  black.  There  is  an  undiscrimi- 
nating  portion  of  the  community,  which  is 
liable  to  be  misled,  and  there  is  a  wicked 
portion,  quite  willing  to  mislead  them.  It  is 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  79 

thus,  that  the  church  is  made  to  suffer  by 
such  exhibitions.  I  do  not  say,  that  she 
loses,  in  one  way,  more  than  she  gains,  in 
another.  The  serious  contemplation  of  these 
delinquencies,  in  those,  whose  holy  office  seems 
to  furnish  a  rampart  of  more  than  ordinary 
strength,  is  likely  to  increase  our  power  of 
resistance,  by  teaching  us  a  solemnizing  lesson 
of  human  frailty,  and  thus  leading  us  to  the 
throne  of  grace  in  prayer  for  an  unearthly 
support.  The  subject  of  intemperance  is 
certainly  one  of  the  highest  interest ;  and  I  am 
far  from  thinking,  that  our  day,  thus  far,  has 
been  employed  un profitably."  —  "  Jest  so  it 
seem  to  me,"  said  the  Dutchman  ;  "  de  shtory 
of  a  poor  trunkard  ish  like  a  beacon  on  de 
preakers,  if  a  pody  vill  only  keep  a  goot 
look-out.  I  followed  de  zea,  and  trinkt 
brandy  more  nor  tirty  year.  Tirty-foor  year 
ago,  I  vowed  I  would  leave  em  off,  if  God 
should  shpare  my  life.  I  vas  on  a  wreck, 
ven  I  made  de  vow."  —  "You  have  lived 
long,  and  probably  seen  much  of  the  world," 


80  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

said  the  elderly  gentleman,  who,  like  myself, 
had  conceived  a  respect  for  the  Dutchman's 
good  sense  and  good  feelings,  — "  suppose 
you  give  us  a  leaf  out  of  your  log-book,  sir." 
— "  Vary  veil,  mynheer,"  said  the  Dutch 
man. 

• 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  81 


PART    THIRD. 


"  I'VE  heer'd  mine  oold  fader  zay  dat  it  vas 
thought,  dere  vasn't  an  honest  man  in  hish 
day,  in  all  Holland,  vat  trinkt  coold  vater. — 
Vansittart,  de  great  burgomaster,  clapt  apout 
a  dozen  in  irons  vat  he  found  trinking  coold 
vater,  togedder ;  bekase  he  knowed  dey  vas 
a  plotting  mischief  agin  de  States  General. — 
My  fader  zay  de  council  of  de  Lutheran 
chuch  in  Leyden,  vere  he  vas  porn,  hauled 
dere  oold  minishter,  Van  Oort,  over  de  coals  for 
giving  a  beggar  coold  vater  mitout  any  prandy, 
bekase,  de  council  zay,  he  vas  not  given 
to  hospitality.  —  Oold  Van  Krutzen,  de  sexton 
of  our  chuch,  used  to  hire  me,  ven  I  vas 
leetil  poy,  to  help  him  shcour  de  communion 
plate,  and  he  always  give  me  a  trink  of  de 
wine  vat  vas  left.  Dat  vas  de  vay  I  begins. 
Poor  Van  Krutzen,  he  got  to  be  a  trunkard. 


82  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

Von  toctor  zay  he  must  leave  off  prandy. 
So  he  try  dat  vay.  After  a  leetil  vile  he 
thought  he  vas  a  dying ;  so  he  send  for  his 
oold  toctor,  and  he  zay,  de  toder  toctor  vas  a 
pig  quack,  and  told  de  patient  to  trink  prandy 
agin.  Van  Krutzen  lookt  up  and  shmile,  and 
ax  de  toctor  how  much  he  should  take  dat 
day.  c  Von  ounce/  zay  de  toctor.  So,  ven 
he  vas  gone,  Van  Krutzen  zay  to  his  son, 
'  Herman,  get  de  measure  pook,  my  poy,  and 
read  how  much  make  von  ounce.'  So  Her 
man  gets  de  pook,  and  read,  '  sixteen  drains 
makes  von  ounce.'  — f  Dat  ish  de  toctor  for 
me,'  cried  Van  Krutzen,  as  he  rubbed  his 
hands  ;  '  I  never  took  so  many  drams  pefore 
in  von  day.' 

"  Ven  I  vas  going  my  firsh  voyage,  as  capin- 
poy,  my  fader  put  me  in  de  shtage  to  go  to 
de  seaport  apout  foorty  mile.  De  shtage 
vas  upset;  von  man  preak  his  head,  anoder  his 
leg,  and  De  Groot,  de  triver,  vas  kilt  upon  de 
shpot.  De  Groot  vas  trunk ;  —  dat  vas 
prandy. — Ven  I  got  to  de  seaport,  I  sh troll 
apout  de  town  half  de  night,  get  into  pad 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  83 

company,  lose  de  leetil  monish  vat  my  oold 
moder  give  me.  and  vas  lock  up  in  de 
vatclr'ouse : —  dat  vas  prandy.  —  De  ship  vas 
vaiting  for  fair  vind  eight  day.  At  lasht  he 
come,  vest-nord-vest.  Den  de  captain  vas 
not  to  pe  found  till  de  next  day.  Ven  dey 
find  him.  he  vas  so  foil  of  de  shtuff  he  couldn't 
navigate  de  ship:  —  dat  vas  prandy.  —  De 
vary  firsh  night  after  ve  gets  to  zea,  ve  runs 
down  a  leetil  shcooner  ;  shtruck  her  jest  apout 
midships.  After  she  fell  off,  she  took  a  lee 
lurch  to  port,  and  vent  down  head  foremost. 
Ven  I  hear  de  shock,  I  runs  upon  de  deck, 
and  jest  zee  her  go.  De  crew  cry  for  us  to 
shtop.  Ve  hove  de  topsails  apack,  and  gets 
out  de  poat,  but  ve  vas  running  eight  knot; 
and,  afore  de  poat  could  pull  pack  to  de  place 
vere  she  vent  down,  dey  vas  all  drown  but 
von.  who  held  on  to  a  shpar ;  ve  save  him. 
Tirteen  lives  vas  lost,  he  zay.  It  vas  pright 
moonlight  night,  but  our  vatch  vas  trunk;  — 
dat,  you  zee,  vas  prandy. — De  captain  vas 
trunk  all  de  time  ;  so  he  don  know  vat  he  zay. 
He  cursh  and  shwear  ten  knot  an  hour.  He 


84  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

shcream  to  one  man  to  pull  de  fore-top  pow- 
line,  ven  he  mean,  like  enough,  de  main-sheet. 
So  de  poor  fellow  he  pull  de  fore-top  powline, 
jest  vat  de  captain  zay.  Den  de  captain  he  tie 
him  up  to  de  rigging,  and  give  him  two  dozen 
mit  de  oold  cat,  bekase  he  don  pull  de  fore- 
sheet ; —  dat  vas  prandy.  —  Von  dark  night, 
ven  ve  had  a  lee  shore,  de  man  at  de  helm, 
—  he  vas  goot  zeaman, — he  zay,  '  Captain 
Van  Brandt,  don  you  tink  we  petter  keep  her 
a  leetle  nearer  de  vind,  and  hold  off  de  land 
till  de  day  preak?' — Den  Van  Brandt  he 
cursh  and  shwear; — he  vas  pretty  trunk  dat 
night.  — e  Vat,  in  de  name  of  Tutch  tonder,' 
he  zay,  as  he  shove  de  man  from  de  helm, 
(  vat !  you  tell  me  how  de  oold  ship  shall  pe 
shteer !  You're  a  lant-lupper,'  he  zay ;  ( de 
cook  can  shteer  more  petter  dan  sich  a  green 
horn  as  you.'  So  he  called  up  de  nigger  cook, 
and  tell  him  how  to  shteer ;  and,  to  show  de 
oder  man  vat  a  fool  he  vas,  he  sail  de  ship  a 
point  vreer  on  de  vind.  Cato  vas  vary  proud 
to  shteer  de  ship ;  and  ven  de  captain  turn 
in,  he  tink  he  shteer  petter,  if  de  compass 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  85 

vould  not  shake  apout  mit  de  roll  of  de  ship ; 
so  he  open  de  pinnacle,  and  put  a  chip  under 
de  compass  to  keep  him  shteady,  jest  as  he  do 
mit  his  shpider  in  de  cabouse.  Apout  an 
hour  after  Captain  Van  Brandt  turn  in,  de 
cook  shteer  de  ship  right  on  de  preakers.  I 
vas  knock  out  of  my  berth.  De  zea  made  a 
clean  breach  fore  and  aft.  It  vas  de  young 
flood  ;  dat  vas  goot  luck.  Ven  de  day  come, 
ve  lighten  de  ship,  and  get  out  an  anchor 
ashtern,  and,  mit  de  full  zea,  ve  get  de  oold 
hulk  afloat.  De  vater-casks  vas  stave,  and 
Cato  vas  gone.  He  zay  he  know  Captain 
Van  Brandt  vould  kill  him ;  so,  ven  de  ship 
shtruck,  he  jump  overpoard  ; — all  dish  vas 
prandy.  —  Dish  vas  de  lasht  trip  dat  ever 
Van  Brandt  vent  to  zea.  He  die  apout  two 
mons  after  he  get  ashore  of  de  liver  complaint. 
De  toctor  zay  dat  it  vas  prandy.  He  vas 
hurried  de  same  day  mit  de  Burgomaster's 
lady,  vat  die  of  de  same  dishtemper. 

"  I  have  seen  great  deal  of  trouble  in  dish 
voorld,  and  prandy  vas  at  de  pottom.  —  De 
lasht  voyage  I  go  to  zea,  I  vas  de  shkipper 


86  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

myself.  I  trinkt  prandy  den  like  oder  volks. 
De  mate,  Jahn  Grontergotzler,  did  jest  so. 
After  a  sb quail  or  a  shpell  of  tough  wedder, 
ven  all  de  trouble  arid  danger  vas  over,  ve 
used  to  take  de  shnaps  of  prandy  pretty  freely. 
Von  or  de  toder,  me  or  Jahn  Grontergotzler, 
vas  commonly  a  leetil  trunk  in  pleasant  wed 
der.  But  ve  took  turns,  so  dat  von  should 
be  sober  to  take  care  of  de  prig.  Von  time, 
ve  had  a  terrible  shtorm,  in  de  Pay  of  Piscay 
it  vas.  It  hold  on  four  days ;  den  dere  come 
clear  wedder.  Ve  thought  it  vas  all  over, 
and,  vile  de  men  vas  repairing  de  damage 
vat  de  shtorm  did,  Grontergotzler  and  me 
took  more  prandy  dan  vas  goot  for  us.  Den 
it  began  to  blow  agin,  and  de  shtorm  came 
back  ten  time  vorse  dan  pefore.  Grontergotz 
ler  vas  an  oold  man.  Ven  he  vas  sober,  dere 
vas  no  petter  to  hand,  reef,  or  shteer,  dan 
oold  Jahn  ;  but  ven  he  vas  trunk,  he  vas  goot 
for  notting.  De  crew  vas  all  young  men  ; 
some  of  deni  vas  only  poys,  and  cley  had  all 
been  trinking  a  leetil.  I  shtaggered  up  to 
de  helm,  ven  I  saw  de  shquall  coming,  to 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  87 

help  de  man  dere  to  get  de  prig  before  de 
vind  ;  but  I  vas  too  late.  De  shquall  took 
her  on  de  proadside,  and  trew  her  on  her  peam- 
ends,  jest  as  a  shtrong  man  vould  trow  a  leetil 
poy.  Five  men  vat  vas  aloft,  mending  de 
sails  and  rigging,  vas  thrown  into  de  zea,  and 
not  von  got  pack  to  de  prig.  Den  came 
anoder  zea,  and  trew  her  more  over  dan  pe- 
fore.  Ven  I  could  zee,  I  look  round  for  de 
living.  Trunk  as  he  vas,  Jahn  Grontergotz- 
ler  —  he  vas  vary  shtrong  man  —  vas  holding 
on  to  de  main  chains ;  and  close  to  Jahn  vas 
Peder  Oortzen,  de  capin-poy.  De  shtorm 
now  seem  to  be  content  mit  de  mischief  he 
had  done,  and  dere  vas  no  more  shqualls. 
Every  great  wave  passed  over  us.  I  vas  in 
de  fore-chains,  and  had  lasht  myself  mit  a 
rope  ;  but  de  prandy  made  me  shtupid,  and  I 
made  up  my  mind  dat  I  musht  go.  .  I  saw 
dat  oold  Jahn  must  go  firsht,  for  he  vas  so 
trunk,  dat  he  sometimes  held  by  von  hand. 
I  vas  not  so  trunk  myself,  as  not  to  feel  for 
poor  Oortzen,  de  capin-poy  ;  I  promished  his 
moder  to  take  care  of  him.  I  called  to  him, 


THE    STAGE-COACH. 


and  told  him  to  keep  out  of  de  oold  mate's 
reach,  for  he  would  go  down  soon,  and  if  he 
got  him  in  his  grip,  dere  vould  be  no  chance 
for  him.  — c  O,  Captain  Plombaak,'  cried  de 
leetil  poy,  c  I  can't  hold  much  longer.'  Jest 
den,  Grontergotzler  let  go,  and,  in  his  shtrug- 
gle,  clutched  Peder's  right  leg  mit  his  hand. 
I  cried  to  de  poor  lad  to  shake  de  oold  man 
off;  but  he  could  not  get  rid  of  Jahn's  death- 
grapple  ;  no  more  could  he  support  de  weight 
of  de  oold  man,  and  his  own  peside ;  so  he 
soon  let  go  von  hand,  and  den  de  toder,  and, 
giving  a  shriek,  he  sunk  mit  oold  Grontergotz 
ler  to  de  pottom.  —  I  vas  den  all  alone,  and  I 
vas  glad  I  vas  not  too  trunk  to  pray  ;  my 
moder  larn  me  to  pray,  ven  I  vas  no  more  tall 
dan  dish,"  —  measuring  half  the  length  of  his 
hickory  stick.  —  "I  pray  to  mine  Got  to 
shpare  me,  and  I  vow  to  trink  no  more  pran- 
dy,  and  to  try  to  pe  a  goot  man.  —  Jest  as  de 
day  vas  done,  I  vas  taken  vrom  de  wreck,  by 
an  English  man-of-war.  I  have  kept  my 
vow  ;  I  have  trinkt  no  more  prandy,  nor  any 
oder  shtrong  trink,  for  tirty-foor  year,  and  I 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  SVJ 

have  tried  to  be  a  goot  man,  so  far  as  I  know 
how, — but  de  merciful  Got,  who  has  shpared 
me.  musht  pe  de  judge  of  dat." —  As  he 
uttered  these  last  words,  the  tears  streamed 
down  the  furrows  of  the  old  Dutchman's 
face,  and  we  were  all  deeply  affected  by  his 
simple  narrative. 

For  a  short  time,  we  rode  forward  in 
silence.  • —  "  It  is  a  painful  truth,  sir,"  said  the 
lady,  who  sat  before  me,  directing  her  eyes, 
as  she  spoke,  towards  the  elderly  gentleman  ; 
"  it  is  a  painful  truth,  as  you  have  remarked, 
that  examples  of  intemperance  are  to  be  found 
among  women.  They  certainly  are,  and 
among  females  of  every  grade  in  society.  I 
have  seen  poor  women,  thoroughly  drunk 
upon  rum  ;  and  very  fine  ladies,  who  have 
dropped  in,  here  and  there,  among  their 
acquaintances  and  at  confectionary  stores,  of  a 
morning,  and  who  had  become  ridiculously 
tipsy,  and  even  worse,  before  they  reached 
their  own  homes.  I  do  not  desire  to  excuse 
or  even  to  palliate  the  offences  of  females,  in 
this  respect.  But  I  believe,  sir,  there  are  no 
8 


90  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

female  distillers,  nor  wholesale  brewers,  nor 
wine-makers.  The  manufacture  of  the  means 
of  intoxication  is  pretty  much  in  the  hands  of 
of  your  sex."  —  "  Your  observation,  madam," 
replied  the  elderly  gentleman,  "  is  perfectly 
just ;  and,  in  domestic  life,  though  the  husband 
may  be  driven  to  intemperance  by  the  wife's 
extravagance,  or  defection,  yet  I  believe  a 
vastly  greater  number  of  wives  are  made  drunk 
ards,  by  the  example  of  their  husbands,  than 
husbands  by  the  example  of  their  wives."  — 
"  You  spoke,  sir,"  continued  the  lady,  "  of  in 
temperance  among  the  clergy.  I  scarcely 
know  which  is  the  more  likely  to  excite  our 
sorrow  and  surprise,  an  intemperate  female  of 
rank  and  education,  or  an  intemperate  clergy 
man." —  "The  clergyman  madam,  beyond 
all  doubt,"  replied  the  elderly  gentleman  ; 
" he  has  been  solemnly  set  apart,  with  his 
own  free  consent,  for  the  service  of  his  Lord 
and  Master."  — "  The  village,  in  which  I  was 
born,"  said  the  lady,  "  and  in  which  I  have 
passed  the  chief  part  of  my  life,  is  somewhat 
remarkable,  for  a  succession  of  intemperate 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  91 

clergymen.  Three,  within  my  own  knowl 
edge,  were  intemperate  men.  They  are  now 
dead,  however,  and  there  is  a  proverb,  you 
know,  sir,  which,  in  the  opinion  of  many, 
exempts  them  from  all  censure."  —  "There 
is  a  proverb,"  replied  the  elderly  gentleman, 
"  I  am  aware,  which  forbids  us  to  say  any 
thing  but  good  of  the  dead ;  but  I  doubt  the 
wisdom  and  the  policy  of  such  a  proverb.  I 
have  more  respect  for  the  practice  of  the 
ancient  Egyptians,  which  was  precisely 
opposite.  They  suffered  their  living  monarchs 
to  reign  uncensured  ;  but,  upon  their  decease, 
they  proceeded  formally  to  try  them  upon 
their  merits,  and  awarded  praise  or  censure  to 
their  memories  accordingly.  Few  men  are 
utterly  regardless  of  posthumous  reputation, 
whether  its  boundaries  be  the  whole  world  or 
the  corner  of  some  little  hamlet.  It  is  said, 
that  he,  who  dies,  can  take  nothing  with  him  : 
surely  he  should  not  be  permitted  to  take 
with  him  into  the  grave  of  oblivion  the  repu 
tation  of  his  misdeeds.  The  highest  and 
holiest  motive  is  the  love  of  God,  But  it  is 


92  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

not  inconsistent  with  the  full  and  free  opera 
tion  of  this  heavenly  spring,  that  others  should 
act  simultaneously  with  it,  for  the  production 
of  the  same  result.  Thus  the  desire  to  leave 
our  children  that,  which  is  infinitely  better 
than  riches,  a  dying  father's  good  name,  is  a 
legitimate  motive.  How  soothing,  in  a  dying 
hour,  surrounded  by  our  children  and  friends, 
to  ask,  in  the  cheering  confidence  of  truth, 
and  in  the  language  of  the  prophet,  Whose 
ox  have  I  taken  ?  or  whose  ass  have  I  taken  1 
or  whom  have  I  defrauded  1  WJiom  have  I 
oppressed  T  or  of  whose  hand  have  I  received 
any  bribe  to  blind  mine  eyes  therewith  ?  If 
dust  to  dust  is  to  close  the  account  forever,  as 
between  man  and  man,  a  strong  inducement 
to  good  conduct  is  taken  away.  Judgment  is 
with  the  Lord  ;  but  I  perceive  in  the  just  ex 
pression  of  opinion,  touching  the  merits  of  the 
dead,  no  presumptuous  interference  with  the 
final  decrees  of  an  all-righteous  God.  We 
have  given  this  day,  thus  far,  to  the  subject 
of  intemperance,  and  I  shall  be  quite  con 
tented,  if  the  remainder  of  it  be  bestowed  in  a 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  93 

similar  manner;  and,  unless  you  have  a 
serious  objection,  I  should  be  gratified  to  hear 
some  account  of  your  three  clergymen,  whose 
errors  ought  not  to  terminate  in  their  own 
personal  affliction  and  disgrace,  but  extend 
beneficially  in  the  shape  of  a  solemn  warning 
to  others."  —  "I  have  nothing  to  offer,  sir," 
rejoined  the  lady,  "  in  opposition  to  your 
reasoning;  and  I  will  briefly  relate  all  that  I 
recollect  of  their  intemperate  habits." 


94  THE    STAGE-COACH. 


PART    FOURTH. 


"THE  temperance  reformation  has  produced 
so  great  a  change  in  practice  and  opinion, 
since  the  days  of  my  childhood,  that  I  have 
sometimes  half  doubted  the  accuracy  of  my 
own  recollections.  I  occasionally  ask  myself, 
if  it  were  really  the  case,  that  ministers  of  the 
gospel  accustomed  themselves,  at  any  period, 
on  week  days,  and  upon  the  Sabbath,  to  the 
use  of  rum,  and  brandy,  and  gin,  and  their 
various  compounds,  such  as  sling,  and  toddy, 
and  flip.  But  my  memory  suffers  me  not 
long  to  remain  in  uncertainty.  A  mass  of 
melancholy  facts  soon  gather  to  its  aid,  and 
leave  not  a  doubt  upon  my  mind.  My  earliest 
recollections  of  strong  drink,  are  directly  asso 
ciated  with  the  person  of  the  clergyman,  who 
was  settled  in  our  village,  when  I  was  born. 
He  baptized  me.  That  was  twenty-nine 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  95 

years  ago.  Temperance  was  seldom  spoken 
of,  when  I  was  a  little  girl,  except  in  a  general 
way.  There  was  no  such  thing  as  a  Temper- 
unce  Society.  Mr.  Motey  was  about  sixty, 
(it  that  time,  and  had  preached  for  our  people 
more  than  twenty  years.  He  was  very  fond 
of  me,  when  I  was  a  little  girl,  and  used,  al 
most  always,  when  he  came  to  our  house,  to 
take  me  upon  his  knee.  Sometimes  I  was 
pleased  to  sit  there,  and  at  other  times,  I  ran 
away  ;  and  when  my  mother  asked  me  why 
I  did  so,  I  remember  to  have  told  her,  that  I 
did  not  like  to  sit  upon  Parson  Motey 's  knee, 
when  his  breath  smelt  of  rum.  She  told  me, 
that  I  must  treat  clergymen  with  respect,  and 
that  ministers  had  a  hard  task  to  perform,  and 
must  have  spirit  to  support  them  like  other 
people.  I  soon  acquired  such  a  knowledge 
of  Parson  Motey 's  habits  as  enabled  me  to 
know,  without  approaching  him,  whether  he 
had  been  drinking  spirit  or  not.  When  he 
had  not,  his  manners  and  tone  of  voice,  were 
mild  and  paternal ;  but,  when  he  had,  they 
did  not  seem  like  a  minister's ;  his  face  was 


96  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

flushed  ;  bis  voice  was  loud  ;  and  his  manners 
were  light.  He  told  very  droll  stories,  and 
laughed  very  boisterously.  Upon  such  occa 
sions,  I  used  to  run  away,  and  peep  through 
the  crack  of  the  door ;  and,  when  he  had 
gone,  I  remember  to  have  said,  *  Mother,  what 
a  funny  minister  Parson  Motey  is  ! '  —  The 
idea,  that  our  old  minister  had  done  wrong,  in 
this  respect,  never  entered  my  mind.  I  can 
assign  no  cause,  peculiar  to  myself,  but,  as  I 
have  stated,  his  breath  was  very  disagreeable 
to  me,  as  a  child  ;  and  his  habit  of  taking 
spirit  became  such  a  daily  custom,  before  I 
was  six  years  old,  that  I  never  sat  upon  his 
knee  after  that  age.  Parson  Motey  was  a 
great  favorite  with  his  people.  He  fell  away 
sadly  before  he  died,  and  I  have  now  no 
doubt,  that  the  habits  of  his  parishioners,  which 
were  almost  universal,  some  four  and  twenty 
years  ago,  operating  upon  his  social  nature, 
occasioned  his  downfall.  Wherever  he  came, 
nothing  was  too  good  for  the  minister ;  and 
nothing  was  better  than  a  cheering  glass. 
There  was  nothing,  in  the  nature  of  this  good 


THE    STA^E-COACH.  97 

thing,  which  confined  its  employment  to  any 
particular  hour  of  the  day.  Mrs.  Motey  her 
self  was  satisfied,  to  use  her  forcible  expres 
sion,  that  it  was  the  very  life  and  soul  of  her 
husband.  She  was  everlastingly  stirring  up 
something  for  Mr.  Motey  ;  and,  if  it  were  not 
precisely  agreeable,  it  was  no  fault  of  hers, 
for  full  thirty-three  and  a  third  per  centum  of 
the  racy  mixture,  whatever  it  might  be,  was 
commonly  consumed  by  Mrs.  Motey,  during 
the  process  of  preparation.  1  became  intimate 
at  the  parsonage,  as  I  grew  older,  and  have 
frequently  witnessed  her  performances.  She 
invariably  sipped  a  little  of  the  raw  material, 
whether  rum,  gin,  brandy,  or  whisky,  —  origi 
nally,  no  doubt,  to  ascertain  its  quality ;  but, 
at  last,  from  the  mere  force  of  habit.  As  she 
poured  in  water,  she  tasted  it  again,  to  judge 
of  its  strength  ;  when  she  added  sugar,  she 
once  more  sipped  a  few  drops,f  to  be  sure  that 
it  was  sufficiently  sweet,  for  no  man  had  a 
sweeter  tooth  than  Mr.  Motey  ;  next  came 
the  nutmeg,  and  again  this  faithful  creature 
9 


98  THE    STAGE-COACH./ 

applied  the  lessening  compound  to  her  lips  ; 
the  poker,  which  seemed  to  be  heated  in  a  ves 
tal  furnace,  —  for  it  was  kept  constantly  ready 
for  action,  —  the  poker  was  now  immersed 
in  the  hissing  and  bubbling  compound;  and 
then  —  for  she  would  not  burn  Mr.  Motey  for 
the  world  —  then  she  lingered  over  the  blessed 
strengthener,  blowing  and  sipping  alternately 
for  five  long  minutes.  It  was  amusing  to  wit 
ness  the  reverential  air,  with  which  she  tottled 
up  to  her  lord  and  master,  and  presented  all 
that  remained  of  the  fruit  of  her  labors.  She 
seemed  almost  to  worship  her  good  husband, 
and  Jupiter  had  not  a  more  obsequious  cup 
bearer  in  Ganymede. — In  the  morning,  Mr. 
Motey  must  not  go  out  without  something  to 
keep  the  wind  off  his  stomach.  He  must  take 
a  little  brandy  before  dinner,  for  an  appetite, 
and  a  little  after,  for  a  digester.  He  must 
lace  his  coffee  with  a  little  brandy,  to  prevent 
it  from  gnawing  on  his  vitals  ;  and  a  cup 
of  hot  gin  sling,  to  promote  repose.  If  she 
visited  in  his  company,  she  would  scarcely  be 


STAGE-COACH.  99 

seated,  before  she  whispered  in  the  ear  of 
the  hostess,  —  <  Mr.  Motey,  I  think,  my  dear, 
would  like  to  take  a  little  something.' 

"  Mr.  Motey  was  a  man  of  talents.  He  had 
full  possession  of  the  love  and  respect  of  his 
parishioners,  till  he  gradually  lost  them  both, 
as  this  habit  of  intemperance  became  more 
manifest,  from  year  to  year.  It  is  fully  im 
pressed  upon  my  memory,  that  his  conduct  in 
the  sanctuary  was  occasionally  very  extraor 
dinary.  I  have  known  him  deliver  a  funeral 
sermon  in  the  morning,  in  his  ordinary  man 
ner,  himself  apparently  unmoved,  w;hile  the 
relatives  were  evidently  convulsed  with  sor 
row  ;  on  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day.  I 
have  heard  him  deliver  a  very  common-place 
discourse,  upon  some  point  of  doctrine,  entire 
ly  unsusceptible  of  pathos,  and,  during  the 
delivery,  1  have  seen  him  shed  tears  profusely. 
At  that  time,  my  father,  who  was  a  farmer, 
had  a  man  in  his  service,  who  had  previously 
lived  in  the  family  of  Parson  Motey.  This 
man  heard  my  father  expressing  his  surprise 
after  meeting,  and  remarked  that  he  guessed 


100  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

he  knew  bow  it  happened.  c  And  how  do 
you  account  for  it,  Jedediah  ? '  said  my 
father.  '  Why,  sir/  he  replied,  '  if  I  may  be 
so  bold,  it's  hot  sling.  It  always  acts  jest  so 
upon  the  old  gentleman.  The  old  lady  never 
fails  to  stir  him  up  a  mug  arter  preaching, 
and  now  the  intermission's  so  short,  it  takes 
holt  on  him,  jest  about  the  eend  of  the  second 
prayer  or  the  beginning  o'  the  sarmon.  Hot 
sling  makes  the  old  gentleman  as  kind  as  pie. 
He  come  out  into  the  kitchen  one  Sunday 
night,  and  told  me  how  he  had  some  thoughts 
oj  building  me  a  house  and  barn.' 

"  His  habits  became,  at  length,  so  very 
bad,  that  the  necessity  of  a  separation  began 
to  be  whispered  about.  Upon  one  occasion, 
we  had  rain  for  six  days,  without  an  hour's 
intermission.  It  was  in  mowing  time;  and, 
unfortunately,  the  farmers  had  cut  vast  quan 
tities  of  hay,  which  lay  spoiling  on  the  ground ; 
On  Sunday  afternoon,  while  it  was  pouring 
down  in  ^torrents,  Parson  Motey  prayed  most 
fervently,  that  the  windows  of  heaven  might 
be  opened,  complaining  that  the  whole  earth 


THE    &f£G *>€!(< A<?H.  lol 

was  turned  to  powder  and  dust.  Farmer 
Thaxter,  a  neighbor  of  ours,  who  had  cut 
forty  acres,  and  had  not  got  in  a  spire  of  it, 
was  in  a  terrible  passion ;  but  my  father 
endeavored  to  soothe  him  by  stating  that  such 
extraordinary  prayers  could  not  be  granted. 
A  committee  was  appointed  to  wait  upon  this 
poor  old  man,  and  warn  him  to  avoid  the 
discipline  of  the  church,  by  retiring  from  the 
post,  which  he  had  dishonored.  This  com 
mittee  held  several  meetings,  but  could  not 
elect  a  chairman.  Notwithstanding  his  mis 
conduct  of  late  years,  no  one  of  the  commit 
tee  could  be  prevailed  upon  to  take  the  lead, 
and  be  the  herald  of  such  painful  tidings. 
One  remembered  that  his  earliest  religious  im 
pressions  had  been  received  under  this  old 
man's  ministry  ;  another  had  heard  him,  in  bet 
ter  days,  pouring  forth  his  whole  soul  in  prayer, 
by  the  bedside  of  a  dying  father.  This  per 
plexity,  however,  was  not  of  long  duration. 
About  a  fortnight  after  the  appointment  of 
the  committee,  it  pleased  God  to  take  the 
cause  into  his  own  hands.  An  apoplectic 


1Q2  TH/3    ST>G#rCOACH. 

fit  terminated  the  old  gentleman's  career. 
His  widow  survived  him  a  few  years  only. 
Three  of  his  children  are  drunken  paupers  in 

the  poor-house  of . 

"  Our  pulpit  was  supplied  for  about  three 
months,  by  different  preachers.  Of  all  those 
who  officiated  among  us,  no  one  appeared  to 
excite  so  much  interest,  as  the  Reverend 
Philander  Featherweight.  He  was  a  very 
handsome  young  man,  and  certainly  exerted 
a  powerful  influence,  in  calling  out  the  un 
married  females  of  our  congregation,  between 
the  years  of  fifteen  and  thirty.  During  the 
last  five  years  of  Mr.  Motey's  ministry,  the 
McTweedle  pew  had  remained  almost  entirely 
unoccupied  ;  but  no  sooner  was  it  matter  of 
rational  conjecture,  that  Mr.  Featherweight 
would  be  our  pastor,  than  the  pew  was 
furnished  with  new  cushions,  and  the  seven 
Miss  McTweedles  were  constantly  in  their 
seats,  during  morning  and  evening  service. 
Mr.  Featherweight  was  undoubtedly  indebted, 
not  a  little,  to  his  personal  appearance  and 
address,  for  his  rapid  growth  in  the  good 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  103 

graces  of  our  young  people.  His  whiskers 
were  the  largest,  and  the  blackest,  and 
altogether  the  handsomest,,  that  had  been 
sported  in  our  parish,  for  many  years  ;  though 
there  were  some,  who  thought  them  not  quite 
so  glossy,  as  those  of  young  Atherton  the 
stao-e-driver.  When  the  Reverend  Philander 

o 

Featherweight  walked  across  our  common, 
with  the  velvet  facing  of  his  cloak  thrown 
gracefully  over  his  shoulder,  a  la  cavalier,  a 
warm-hearted  friend  of  mine,  Miss  Arethusa 
Cooley,  avowed  her  conviction  that  he  would 
certainly  fill  the  church.  His  dress  and  man 
ner  were,  according  to  the  good  old  standard, 
somewhat  unprofessional.  'Even  the  dress 
of  a  clergyman,'  says  an  agreeable  writer,* 
1  should  be  in  character,  and  nothing  can  be 
more  despicable  than  conceited  attempts  at 
avoiding  the  appearance  of  the  clerical  order  ; 
attempts,  which  are  as  ineffectual  as  they  are 
pitiful.  Dr.  Porteus,  the  Bishop  of  London, 
in  his  excellent  charge,  when  presiding  over  the 

*  Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson,  Lond.   Ed.   1835. 
Vol.  viii.  p.  50. 


104  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

diocese  of  Chester,  justly  animadverts  upon  this 
subject,  and  observes  of  a  reverend  fop,  that  he 
can  be  but  half  a  beau.' — Mr.  Featherweight's 
sermons  were  exceedingly  flowery,  and  his 
gestures  were  not  ungraceful.  Old  Deacon 
Tower,  who  was  a  man  of  sterling  worth,  and 

7  O  ' 

sterling  sense,  was  evidently  dissatisfied  with 
the  new  candidate.  The  deacon  was  a  man 
of  few  words,  and,  when  the  Reverend  Phi 
lander  Featherweight  was  commended,  by 
some  young  people,  in  the  good  deacon's  hear 
ing,  for  his  beautiful  tropes  and  figures,  and 
his  elegant  gestures,  the  deacon  observed, 
with  a  pleasant  smile,  — <  Not  only  so,  but 
also.' 

"  Mr.  Featherweight  was  nevertheless  get 
ting  to  be  very  popular  with  our  people,  and 
it  became  pretty  generally  understood,  that 
he  would  have  an  invitation  to  settle.  These 
fair  prospects  were  destined  to  be  blasted.  A 
deputy-sheriff  arrived  in  our  village,  and 
arrested  the  Reverend  Philander  Feather 
weight  for  a  debt,  contracted  in  the  town  of 
.  Some  of  our  people  ob- 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  105 

tained  a  sight  of  the  writ,  and  the  account  an 
nexed,  and  it  was  soon  whispered  about,  that 
the  claim  was  for  the  amount  of  a  confection 
er's  hill  of  two  years'  standing,  and  that  the 
principal  items  were  jellies,  cakes,  and  cor 
dials.  '  What  do  you  think  of  this  ? '  said  my 
father  to  old  Deacon  Tower.  — '  Providential/ 
—  replied  the  deacon.  This  incident  closed 
the  account  forever  between  our  people  and 
the  Reverend  Philander  Featherweight. 
When  the  breach  has  been  once  effected,  it 
is  surprising  how  rapidly  the  waters  will  find 
their  way  through  the  crevasse.  No  sooner 
had  the  reputation  of  this  young  man  become 
a  questionable  matter,  than  every  sharp-shooter 
of  the  village  made  use  of  it  for  a  target,  and 
reports,  of  \\hich  several  were  but  too  well 
founded,  were  extensively  circulated,  to  the 
disparagement  of  the  Reverend  Philander 
Featherweight.  It  was  proved,  beyond  all 
doubt,  that  his  habits  were  intemperate  ;  and 
that  he  had  concealed  his  evil  disposition, 
during  his  period  of  probation,  that  he  might 
the  more  certainly  secure  a  settlement. 


10(5  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

"We  continued  more  than  eighteen  months, 
without  a  settled  minister,  depending,  for  the 
services  of  the  sanctuary,  upon  such  clergymen 
as  we  could  obtain  from  week  to  week.  Those 
individuals,  upon  whom  the  selection  of  a 
minister  chiefly  depended,  had  become  ex 
tremely  wary,  and  went  to  their  work,  after 
their  past  experiences,  with  fear  and  trembling. 
At  last,  the  voice  of  the  people  appeared  to 
fall,  with  a  remarkable  degree  of  unanimity, 
upon  the  Reverend  Cyprian  Pottle.  He  was 
^bout  thirty  years  of  age.  His  personal  ap* 
pearance  was  inferior  to  Mr.  Featherweight's  , 
but  he  had  the  reputation  of  great  learning 
and  piety.  He  was  short  and  thickset,  with 
a  round,  rosy,  shining  face,  brimful  ofbonhom- 
mie.  He  was  married  ;  and,  on  that  account, 
less  likely  to  breed  disturbance  in  the  parish. 
After  a  careful  investigation  of  his  character, 
he  was  settled  ;  and  the  McTweedles  soon 
fell  into  their  old  habit  of  neglecting  the  ser 
vices  of  the  sanctuary.  '  Of  one  thing,'  said 
Deacon  Tower,  c  we  are  morally  sure  —  Mr. 
Pottle  never  takes  any  spirit,  and  disapproves 


THE    ST AGE-GO ACH.  107 

of  it  altogether.'  —  Our  new  minister  seemed 
determined  to  set  the  fears  of  the  parish  at 
rest  on  that  score  ;  for,  upon  the  third  Sabbath 
after  he  had  been  settled  among  us,  he  preached 
a  sermon  on  temperance.  He  spoke  of  the 
evils  of  drinking  spirit,  denouncing  drunken 
ness,  with  unmeasured  severity.  Even  at  that 
early  day,  he  had  the  boldness  to  declare  his 
belief,  that  spirit  was  not  only  the  frequent 
cause  of  poverty,  and  crime,  and  death  itself, 
but  that  it  was  quite  useless  to  mankind,  un 
less  in  some  extraordinary  cases.  At  the 
close  of  this  discourse,  he  intimated  his  in 
tention  to  pursue  the  subject  in  the  afternoon. 
"  Those,  who  had  an  abiding  terror  of  the 
rock,  upon  which  Parson  Motey  had  fallen, 
in  his  latter  days,  were  greatly  comforted  by 
this  discourse.  Deacon  Tower  came  forth 
from  the  meeting-house,  with  a  smile  of  high 
satisfaction  upon  his  countenance.  c  This  is 
our  man,'  said  he,  rubbing  his  hands  together. 
—  'I've  my  doubts,'  said  Colonel  Millet,  the 
tavern-keeper.  —  '  Why,  colonel,'  rejoined 
the  deacon,  cyou  must  not  think  too  much 


108  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

of  your  trade.'  6  'Tisn't  o'  my  trade  neither 
that  I'm  a  thinking,  Deacon  Tower/  replied 
the  colonel,  *  but  of  your  minister.  Gurney, 
that  teams  for  me,  told  me  yesterday,  when 
he  went  down  to  the  city,  that  he  carried  a 
note  from  the  minister  to  a  wholesale  dealer, 
and  that  he  brought  back  a  cask  of  English 
porter,  marked  Rev.  Cyprian  Pottle.'  — '  Are 
you  certain  of  this? '  inquired  the  deacon. — 
£  Jest  as  sartain,'  replied  the  colonel,  £  as  that 
your  old  mare's  windgalled.  Why,  do  you 
suppose  its  skim-milk,  that  gives  a  body  such 
a  fresh  color,  deacon,  eh?'  —  The  deacon 
was  not  much  elated  with  this  piece  of  infor 
mation  ;  and,  when  he  resumed  his  seat  in 
the  afternoon,  his  confidence  was  not  quite  so 
strong,  as  when  he  left  it  in  the  morning.  The 
habit  of  drinking  spirit  was  so  very  general  in 
our  village,  that  the  morning's  discourse  gave 
no  little  offence.  Nevertheless,  the  meeting 
house  was  unusually  full  in  the  afternoon  ; 
many  who  were  not  present  in  the  morning, 
had  heard  of  the  sermon,  and  were  desirous 
of  hearing  the  new  minister  handle  a  subject, 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  109 

which  had  never  been  brought  before  them  by 
Parson  Motey.  —  He  took  his  text,  in  the 
afternoon,  from  Paul's  First  Epistle  to  Timothy, 
fifth  chapter,  and  twenty-third  verse.  Drink 
no  longer  ivater,  but  use  a  little  wine  for  thy 
stomach's  sake  and  thine  often  infirmities. 
Some  of  the  most  sedate,  among  his  parish 
ioners,  were  greatly  disturbed  at  Parson  Pot 
tle's  manner  of  handling  this  text.  A  frequent 
repetition  of  the  passage  occurred  in  his  dis 
course  ;  and  in  no  instance  did  his  accent 
fall  on  the  word  little,  but  invariably  on  wine, 
as  contradistinguished  from  water.  He  did 
not  once  advert  to  the  important  fact,  that 
Timothy  was  a  man  of  feeble  constitution,  a 
( mortified  man  to  the  pleasures  of  sense?  as  I 
think  he  is  called  by  Henry,  in  his  commen 
tary  on  this  passage.  Indeed,  I  have  no 
doubt,  that  very  many  of  Parson  Pottle's 
hearers  were  impressed  with  the  idea,  that 
this  direction  of  the  apostle  was  of  general 
application.  He  stated  expressly,  that  tvo 
reasons  were  offered  by  the  apostle,  for  avoid 
ing  water,  and  drinking  wine,  one,  the  stom- 


110  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

acJCs  sake,  and  the  other,  often  infirmities, 
and  that  either  was  sufficient.  He  asserted 
that  distilled  spirit  was  unknown,  as  he  sup 
posed,  in  Paul's  time  ;  that  it  was  man's  con 
trivance  ;  but  that  fermented  liquors  were  then 
known  and  commended  ;  that  beer,  especially, 
which  was  supposed  to  have  been  first  made 
in  Egypt,  was  a  remarkably  wholesome  and 
nutritious  beverage  ;  that  it  was  a  good  crea 
ture  of  God  ;  that  our  Saviour  made  wine 
himself  at  the  marriage  feast ;  and  he  strongly 
intimated,  that  it  was  very  creditable  to  drink 
it  occasionally,  and  always  at  weddings,  as  a 
testimony  of  respect  for  the  Redeemer.  During 
the  delivery  of  this  discourse,  the  Parson  was 
exceedingly  drowsy,  and  gaped  repeatedly. 
After  meeting,  Deacon  Tower  endeavored  to 
keep  out  of  Colonel  Millet's  way,  and  go 
home  as  soon  as  possible.  But  the  colonel 
hailed  him,  as  he  was  getting  over  the  rail- 
fence,  to  get  home  the  shortest  way  ;  and  the 
deacon,  who  well  knew  the  colonel's  bois 
terous  manner,  turned  back  into  the  road,  and 
joined  him,  to  prevent  his  remarks  from  being 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  Ill 

overheard.  '  Well,  Deacon  Tower,'  said  he, 
c  what  do  you  think  of  the  new  minister  now  ? ' 
—  The  deacon  shook  his  head,  and  looked 
grievously,  but  uttered  not  a  syllable.  — c  Dea 
con,'  continued  the  colonel,  '  my  opinion  isn't 
no  great  shakes,  I  suppose,  but  I'll  tell  ye 
what  Gurney,  the  teamster,  said  jest  now,  on 
the  meeting-house  steps,  right  out,  afore  every 
body  ;  says  he,  £  If  there  baant  hops  and  malt 
in  that  are  sarment,  my  name's  not  Noah 
Gurney  ;  for,'  says  he,  c  one  o'  the  bottles  in 
the  cask  o'  porter  I  brought  up  for  him,  broke 
a  coming  up,  and  I'd  nothing  to  save  it  in,  so 
I  drank  a  part  on't,  and  it  took  sich  a  holt  o' 
my  narves,  that  I  got  sound  asleep  in  my  wag 
gon,  and,  arter  I  woke,  I  felt,  a  good  while, 
jest  as  the  minister  looked  while  he  was  a 
preaching.' — I  guess  we've  got  out  o'  the 
frying-pan  slick  into  the  fire,  deacon.' — The 
deacon  shook  his  head  mournfully,  but  ven 
tured  not  to  reply  ;  but  the  good  old  man  was 
made  sick  by  his  painful  apprehensions  for  the 
result.  He  was  himself  a  highly  respectable 
expounder  of  holy  writ ;  and  he  was  severely 


112  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

shocked  by  such  a  palpable  perversion  of 
Scripture  ;  and,  when  he  reflected  upon  the 
story  of  the  cask  of  porter,  and  Parson  Pot 
tle's  lethargic  manner,  during  the  delivery  of 
his  afternoon's  discourse,  he  had  some  fears 
that  the  poor  man's  appetite  for  stimu 
lants  had  warped  his  construction  of  God's 
word.  Wine,  in  truth,  said  the  good  deacon 
within  himself,  is  a  moclcer. 

"  Such  were  the  habits  of  our  people,  that 
they  would  never  have  thought  of  scrutinizing 
the  private  life  and  conversation  of  their 
minister,  if  he  had  not  proclaimed  open  war 
upon  their  idols,  in  the  form  of  stone  jugs. 
His  free  indulgence  in  the  use  of  fermented 

o 

liquor  would  have  passed  unrebuked,  had  he 
not  so  severely  reprobated  their  employment 
of  distilled  spirit.  As  it  was,  he  had  gone  too 
far  to  retrace  his  steps  with  dignity  or  grace ; 
and  the  people  were  too  highly  incensed  to 
forgive  or  forbear.  He  had  thrown  the  first 
stone,  and,  in  their  judgment,  gratuitously ; 
nay  more,  provokingly  ;  and  there  were  some 
persevering  spirits  among  them,  who  were 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  113 

resolved  to  ascertain,  if  any  portion  of  the 
parson's  house  were  made  of  glass.  —  He, 
who  has  ever  made  a  village  his  place  of 
residence  for  any  other  than  a  very  limited 
period,  must  have  perceived  how  skilfully 
the  art  of  espionage  is  conducted  there. 
Hundreds  of  prying  eyes  were  turned  upon 
the  movements  of  the  Reverend  Cyprian 
Pottle.  The  tongues  of  man-servant  and 
maid-servant  were  put  in  requisition,  and  the 
very  ox  and  ass,  had  they  been  as  talkative  as 
Balaam's,  would  have  been  examined  and 
cross-examined  by  the  parish.  Ears,  even 
the  dullest  of  hearing  in  the  village,  were 
opened  wide  for  the  reception  of  a  thousand 
tales.  So  that,  by  the  combined  exertions  of 
eyes,  ears,  and  tongues,  it  was  well  under 
stood,  in  the  course  of  a  few  months,  precisely 
in  what  manner,  from  sun  to  sun,  the  parson 
lived,  and  moved,  and  had  his  being.  The 
squabbles  of  Parson  Pottle  and  his  lady  were 
soon  bruited  abroad ;  it  was  even  rumored, 
that  they  disputed  which  of  the  twrain  had 
drunk  the  larger  half  of  the  bottle  of  porter 
10 

m 


114  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

at  the  dinner-table.  His  reputation  for  piety 
and  learning  had  undoubtedly  been  overrated 
upon  his  first  arrival ;  and  there  were  not  a 
few,  who  now  began  to  deny  his  legitimate  title 
to  either.  He  was  not  deficient  in  cunning 
and  a  ready  apprehension  of  the  characters  of 
men.  It  required  a  brief  application  only  of 
Parson  Pottle's  powers,  to  fathom,  to  the  very 
bottom,  the  simple,  single-hearted  disposition 
of  good,  old  Deacon  Tower.  The  deacon, 
about  a  year  after  Mr.  Pottle  had  come  among 
us,  was  urged,  by  the  graver  portion  of  our 
people,  to  visit  him,  and  advise  him  of  the 
reports,  which  were  circulating  to  his  disad 
vantage.  The  deacon,  though  with  great 
reluctance,  waited  upon  him,  to  execute  this 
embarrassing  commission.  The  parson's  fea 
tures  were  as  flexible  as  caoutchouc  ;  and  it 
was  really  surprising  to  witness  the  various 
expressions,  which  they  assumed,  as  different 
emotions  predominated  over  the  inner  man. 
Although  they  were  surrendered,  at  one  mo 
ment,  to  the  broadest  development  of  perfect 
good  humor,  at  the  next,  they  were  the  very 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  115 

image  and  superscription  of  the  coldest 
austerity.  He  had  been  forewarned  of  the 
deacon's  design,  and  met  his  first  accost,  in 
such  a  formal  and  forbidding  manner,  that  the 
old  man  departed,  after  a  little  unimportant 
conversation,  without  the  slightest  allusion  to 
the  real  object  of  his  visit.  I  have  seldom 
met  an  individual,  of  as  limited  powers,  whose 
look,  and  manner,  and  sonorous  voice,  had 
such  a  withering  effect  upon  persons  of  indif 
ferent  nerves.  I  recollect  an  amusing  illus 
tration  of  this  fact.  I  called  one  day  at  the 
parsonage,  with  a  neighbor  of  ours,  a  Mrs. 
Matilda  Moocley.  After  a  pause,  { Mr. 
Pottle,'  said  she,  <I  am  almost  ashamed  to 
confess  my  ignorance,  but  you  said  something 
in  your  last  discourse,  which  I  did  not  exactly 
understand.'  — c  Well,  madam,'  said  he,  with 
a  loud  voice  and  stern  expression,  c  and  pray 
what  was  it?'  —  CO,  dear  sir,'  she  replied, 
evidently  confounded  by  his  manner,  c  I  don't 
doubt,  in  the  least,  that  it  was  owing  to  my 
weak  understanding ;  but  you  said,  sir, — 
speaking  of  the  wiles  of  Satan,  —  as  if  as 


116  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

though  to  circumvent  theeS  —  <O — ah — yes, 
Mrs.  Moodey,'  he  answered,  (l  well  remember 
that  expression.  The  meaning  of  those  words, 
madam,'  raising  his  voice  to  a  terrible  pitch, 
and  striking  his  hand  violently  upon  the 
table, — c  the  meaning  of  those  words  is  this, 
Mrs.  Moodey,  —  AS  IF  AS  THOUGH  TO  CIR 
CUMVENT  THEE.'  —  <O  dear  me,  Parson 
Pottle,'  cried  Mrs.  Moodey,  with  a  trembling 
voice,  how  very  clear  you  make  it  now ! ' 

"  Mr.  Pottle  had  unfortunately  placed  him 
self  between  the  cross-fires  of  his  parishion 
ers  :  those  who  drank  spirit,  were  incensed 
against  him  as  a  matter  of  course ;  and  the 
grave  and  temperate  members  of  his  congre 
gation  were  thoroughly  disgusted  by  his  theory 
and  practice ;  his  theory,  as  exhibited  in  his 
sermon  upon  Paul's  counsel  to  Timothy  ;  and 
his  practice,  most  unhappily  illustrated  by  a 
very  free  and  habitual  use  of  malt  liquor,  whose 
evil  consequences  were  too  frequently  made 
manifest  in  a  variety  of  ways.  Nevertheless 
he  had  several  stanch  friends  in  the  parish. 
He  was  particularly  attentive  to  the  children 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  117 

of  his  parishioners,  in  the  presence  of  their 
parents,  whose  favor  lie  frequently  secured, 
by  these  little  courtesies.  He  continued 
among  us  for  several  years,  though  very  little, 
as  I  am  compelled  to  believe,  to  the  edification 
of  our  people.  He  certainly  was  instrumen 
tal  in  bringing  among  us  the  free  and  familiar 
use  of  wine  and  porter.  Dry  visitation  was 
a  thing  almost  unknown  among  the  clergy  of 
those  days  ;  and  the  parishioners  of  Parson 
Pottle  were  as  unlikely,  as  those  of  any  other 
clergyman,  to  perpetrate  a  flagrant  violation  of 
the  standing  laws  of  hospitality.  He  had 
publicly  pronounced  an  anathema  against 
distilled  liquors ;  and  all,  who  were  desirous 
of  standing  well  with  their  spiritual  guide, 
carefully  concealed  their  rum-jugs  and 
brandy-bottles  from  his  observation,  whose 
places  were  abundantly  supplied  with  wine 
and  porter.  Of  these  he  cheerfully  partook, 
wherever  he  went ;  and,  as  he  was  remarka 
ble  for  his  parochial  attentions,  and  particu 
larly  heedful,  at  meals,  of  that  portion  of 
Paul's  counsel,  which  commands  to  'drink 


118  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

no  longer  water  J  it  is  not  wonderful,  that  the 
sad  effects  of  this  daily  practice  were  occa 
sionally  exhibited  before  the  members  of  his 
congregation.  His  excess  of  garrulous  good 
nature,  in  the  morning,  began  to  be  almost 
habitually  contrasted  with  his  irritable  lethargy 
in  the  afternoon.  He  became  excessively 
corpulent,  and  the  bloated  visage  and  triple 
chin  bore  ample  testimony  to  the  farinaceous 
properties  of  malt  liquor.  At  length,  the 
habit  became  inordinate,  and  its  consequences 
truly  deplorable.  When  he  entered  the 
house  of  a  parishioner,  he  was  scarcely 
seated,  before  he  asked  for  a  tumbler  of 
porter  or  a  glass  of  wine,  seemingly  with  as 
little  rationality  of  motive,  as  may  be  sup 
posed  to  govern  the  movements  of  a  child, 
who  labors  under  some  affection  of  the  nervous 
system.  His  step  became  unsteady ;  and, 
now  and  then,  under  the  appearance  of 
talking  by  the  way,  it  became  exceedingly 
convenient  to  rely  upon  some  worthy  parish 
ioner's  arm,  as  far  as  the  parsonage. 

"There   were   several   moderate    drinkers 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  119 

of  ardent  spirit,  of  strong  heads  and  iron 
constitutions,  whose  industry,  activity,  and 
orderly  appearance,  were  extremely  disad 
vantageous  to  Parson  Pottle's  theory.  These 
men  were  frequently  cited  by  the  rum-drink 
ers  and  rum-sellers ;  and,  upon  a  Sabbath 
day,  when  the  parties  were  coming  forth,  at 
the  same  moment,  from  the  meeting-house 
door,  it  was  no  uncommon  thing  to  hear  an 
invidious  comparison  between  the  rugged 
appearance  and  active  gait  of  old  Farmer 
Furrowdale,  who  drank  spirit,  though  in  great 
moderation,  and  the  unwieldy  person  and 
paralytic  step  of  Parson  Pottle,  whose  prin 
cipal  beverage  was  malt  liquor. 

"  In  course  of  time,  it  began  to  be  whis 
pered  about  the  parish,  that,  where  good 
brandy  could  be  had,  and  malt  liquor  could 
not,  Mr.  Pottle  would  not  refuse  to  partake 
of  that,  which  was  set  before  him,  asking  no 
questions  for  conscience'  sake.  From  this 
period,  he  fell  away  rapidly ;  and,  after  a 
time,  scarcely  any  thing  remained  to  mark 
the  holy  man,  beside  the  outward  insignia 


120  THE    STAGE-COACH, 

of  the  clerical  office.  My  father  used  to  say, 
that  it  was  of  little  importance,  at  which  side 
of  the  pond  a  person  entered  to  cross  over, 
if  the  whirlpool  were  in  the  middle ;  mean 
ing,  that  the  chief  danger  lay  in  the  habit  of 
drinking,  which ,  when  once  confirmed,  would 
as  probably  lead  its  victim  to  drunkenness, 
through  the  agency  of  one  intoxicating  liquor 
as  of  another.  The  services  of  the  sanctuary, 
especially  in  the  afternoon,  were  so  improper 
ly  conducted,  that  the  more  religious  frequent 
ly  resorted  to  the  adjoining  village ;  some 
remained  at  home,  and  others  attended,  in  any 
but  a  becoming  spirit.  Upon  one  occasion, 
when  the  people  had  assembled,  notice  was 
given,  that  the  Reverend  Mr.  Pottle  was 
taken  suddenly  unwell.  It  was  afterwards 
satisfactorily  established,  that  he  was  too 
entirely  overcome  by  liquor  to  officiate. 

"We  had,  in  our  congregation,  at  that 
time,  several  young  men  of  steady  habits, 
farmers  and  mechanics,  who  were  married, 
and  who,  though  not  members  of  the  church, 
had  the  reputation  of  being  strictly  moral 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  121 

men.  Some  of  them  had  families;  and,  as 
the  clergyman's  example  was  constantly 
presented  before  their  eyes,  they  were  very 
naturally  apprehensive  of  its  influence  upon 
their  children.  They  were  indignant  also 
at  Parson  Pottle's  conduct,  esteeming  it  a 
reproach  upon  their  native  village.  They 
therefore  resolved,  to  use  their  own  words, 
'to  fix  the  minister.''  One  of  their  number 
told  my  husband,  confidentially,  that  they 
had  laid  their  plan ;  and,  since  the  elders  and 
church-members  would  not  take  the  matter 
up,  they  were  determined  ( to  fix  the  minis 
ter  ;'  but  he  begged  my  husband  to  say 
nothing  of  the  matter  to  Deacon  Tower. 
My  husband,  however,  would  not  consent  to 
keep  their  secret.  This  precipitated  the 
execution  of  their  scheme,  which  was  carried 
into  effect  the  very  next  day,  and  before  my 
husband  could  inform  the  deacon  of  their 
designs.  The  pain  which  one  feels,  while 
recounting  the  degrading  history  of  a  drunken 
clergyman,  would  be  unmingled,  were  it  not 
for  the  impressive  and  valuable  lesson,  which 
11 


\ 


122  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

it  teaches,  in  connection  with  the  total  absti 
nence  reform.  It  shows,  that  even  the  holy 
office,  the  solemn  consecration  of  one's 
powers  to  the  service  of  Almighty  God,  the 
sanctity  of  those  vows,  which  are  made  upon 
the  very  altar,  are  all  insufficient  to  save  poor 
human  nature  from  the  effects  of  this  sweep 
ing  scourge.  No  man  may  rightfully  com 
plain  of  an  adder's  sting,  if  he  will  take  it  to 
his  bosom,  with  a  knowledge  of  its  properties 
and  powers.  —  The  remainder  of  this  revolt 
ing  tale  may  be  briefly  told.  On  the  day 
after  their  design  had  been  communicated  to 
my  husband,  they  so  arranged  their  plan,  as 
to  have  the  clergyman  invited  to  dine  at  the 
house  of  one  of  their  number,  in  a  distant 
part  of  the  village,  who  plied  him  so  success 
fully  with  wine  and  ale,  that  he  had  some 
difficulty  in  walking,  when  he  left  the  house 
after  dinner.  He  had  not  gone  far  on  his 
way  home,  before  he  was  encountered  by 
another,  who  persuaded  him  to  walk  in. 
There  again  the  process  was  repeated,  and 
again,  after  an  hour's  compotation,  he  ven- 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  123 

tared  forth,  scarcely  able  to  stagger  home 
ward.  He  had  gotten,  with  infinite  difficulty, 
half  a  mile  farther  on  his  way,  and  stood 
resting  against  the  wall,  near  the  house  of  a 
Mr.  Clinch,  a  carpenter,  another  of  the  con 
spirators,  who  had  resolved  '  to  fix  the  minis 
ter.9  Clinch  had  his  eye  upon  him,  and 
approached  the  Spot  where  he  stood. — 
'  Bless  my  heart,  parson,'  said  he,  '  is  it  you  ? 
Why,  I  want  to  know !  Why,  you  baant 
well,  I  guess,  or  you  wouldn't  be  to  roost  on 
the  wall  here,  I  reckon.'  —  *  I'm  a  little 
uneasy,'  said  the  minister.  'It's  all  owing  to 
boiled  pork ;  I'll  never  touch  it  again.'  — 
4 Boiled  pork,  hey?  —  why,  how  you  talk! 

—  boiled   in   a  brew-house,  I  guess,  by  the 
smell  o'  your  breath,  parson.     But  come,  go 
in  with  rne,  and  try  a  hair  o'  the  old  dog.'  — 
'  Thank  ye,  Mr.  Bailey,'  said  the  minister.  — 
'  It  isn't  Bailey,'  said  the  other ;   c  it's  John 
Clinch,  the  carpenter ;  don't  ye  know  me  ? ' 

—  Clinch    helped    him  in  to  his  house,  and 
there   the    work    of    utter   drunkenness   was 
consummated.       Before    nine    o'clock,    the 


124  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

minister  was  in  as  profound  a  slumber,  as 
could  be  produced  by  the  agency  of  hops 
and  malt. 

"  A  little  after  ten,  that  night,  and  when 
I  had  been  in  bed  about  half  an  hour,  my 
husband  got  up,  in  consequence  of  a  loud 
rapping  at  the  front  door.  He  opened  the 
window,  and  discovered  more  than  a  dozen 
young  men  underneath.  The  moon  shone 
brightly,  and  he  instantly  recognized  their 
persons.  — i  Come  down/  said  Clinch. — 
*  What's  the  matter?'  inquired  my  husband. 
— c  Come  down,  and  see  with  your  own 
eyes,'  cried  one  of  their  number.  I  threw 
my  clothes  loosely  over  me,  and  looked  out 
of  the  window,  while  my  husband  went 
below.  Four  of  them  supported  a  board, 
with  side  pieces,  which  Clinch,  as  I  after 
wards  heard,  had  knocked  up  for  the  occa 
sion  ;  on  the  top  of  the  board  I  perceived 
something,  the  nature  of  which  I  did  not 

CT? 

then  comprehend,  covered  with  a  bed-quilt. 
When  my  husband  had  joined  them,  Clinch 
threw  down  the  upper  part  of  the  quilt,  and 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  125 

said,  'Didn't  we  tell  ye  ive'd  fix  him?'  1 
instantly  recognized  the  features  of  Parson 
Pottle.  My  husband  rebuked  them  for  their 
conduct ;  but  three  or  four  exclaimed  at  once, 
that  their  children  should  not  be  catechized 
by  a  drunken  minister.  My  husband  inquired 
what  they  designed  to  do  with  him.  They 
replied,  that  they  meant  to  show  him  to 
Deacon  Tower  and  three  or  four  more,  and 
then  put  him  to  bed  in  his  own  house ;  and 
that  not  a  hair  of  his  head  should  be  injured. 
They  then  moved  off,  two  and  two,  with 
Clinch  at  their  head,  repeating  as  he  went,  — 
*  Drink  no  longer  water,  but  use  a  little  wine 
for  thy  stomach's  sake,  and  thine  often  in 
firmities.'  " 

When  the  lady  had  closed  her  narrative, — 
"  Pray,  madam,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black, 
who  sat  next  me,  "do  you  vouch  for  the 
truth  of  this  extraordinary  story?"  — "  A 
part  of  it,  sir,"  she  replied,  "  I  saw,  as  I  have 
already  told  you ;  and  the  circumstances,  as 
I  have  related  them,  were  as  well  known  and 
as  firmly  believed,  in  our  village,  as  the 


126  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

surrender  of  Yorktown  by  Lord  Cornwallis." 
—  "I  should  like  to  see  those  young  men," 
said  the  gentleman  in  black,  "  tied  up  by 
their  thumbs,  and  flogged  for  half  an  hour, 
with  a  cat-o'-nine-tails." —  "And  I,  myself," 
said  the  Dutchman,  "  vould  like  dat  de 
minishter  should  have  de  benefit  of  de  same 
tails  for  de  toder  half  hour."  —  "I  presume, 
sir,"  said  the  elderly  gentleman  to  the  first 
speaker,  who  had  thus  given  vent  to  his 
indignation,  "  that  you  are  a  clergyman  ;  and, 
if  I  am  correct,  I  devoutly  hope,  for  the  sake 
of  your  parishioners,  that  you  are  a  thorough 
going  temperance  man."  —  "Sir,"  replied  the 
gentleman  in  black,  "  you  are  right  in  your 
conjecture ;  I  have  been  for  four  and  twenty 
years  in  the  ministry ;  and,  as  a  pledged 
member  of  a  total  abstinence  society,  I  have 
contributed,  within  my  humble  sphere,  to 
advance  the  reformation.  But  I  confess  to 
you,  that,  under  a  government  of  laws, 
which  proposes  to  find  a  remedy  for  every 
wrong,  I  have  felt  pained  and  shocked  at 
such  conduct,  on  the  part  of  any  men,  affect- 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  127 

ing  to  be  civilized,  towards  a  minister  of  the 
gospel.  He  was  a  subject  for  the  discipline 
of  the  church,  and,  upon  the  request  of  his 
parishioners,  the  bond  between  him  and  his 
people  would  have  been  severed."  — "  You 
must  not  suppose,  sir,"  said  the  lady,  "  that 
the  respectable  portion  of  our  people  ap 
proved  of  such  conduct.  The  young  men 
themselves  were  heartily  ashamed  of  it ;  and, 
before  Mr.  Pottle  left  the  village,  which  he 
did  shortly  after,  —  for  he  never  preached 
there  again,  —  some  of  these  young  men 
had  the  good  sense  to  call  on  him,  and 
express  their  deep  regret  for  their  share  in 
such  unbecoming  conduct,  and  ask  his  for 
giveness.  As  these  young  men  were  other 
wise  unblemished  in  reputation,  and  strictly 
temperate,  I  have  related  this  story,  to*  show 
the  danger  which  lies  in  the  path  of  a  clergy 
man  who  meddles  with  intoxicating  drink,  — 
whose  employment  may  sink  his  character  so 
very  low,  that  even  an  association,  not  of 
profligates,  but  of  well-meaning,  though  mis- 


128  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

guided  young  men,  may  be  gradually  worked 
up,  by  his  gross  intemperance,  to  the  perpe 
tration  of  such  an  outrage/'  — "  Your  mo 
tives  for  relating  this  story,  madam,"  said  the 
elderly  gentleman,  "  are,  in  my  judgment, 
just  such  as  they  should  be ;  and  I  should 
rejoice  to  have  it  printed  at  full  length,  upon 
the  inside  of  every  wine  and  beer  drinking 
clergyman's  pulpit  in  the  land."  —  "Dat  ish 
de  place  for  it,"  cried  the  Dutchman,  thump 
ing  the  stage-floor  with  his  hickory  ;  "  dat  ish 
de  vary  place  for  it ;  only  shtick  up  dat  shtory 
vat  de  lady  hash  told,  in  de  pulpit  of  every 
minishter  vat  trinks  de  vine  and  de  ale,  and  I 
vill  zay  notting  more  apout  de  cat-o'-nine 
tails." —  "  Well,  sir,"  said  the  elderly  gentle 
man,  turning  to  my  next  neighbor,  "  we  have 
many  miles  yet  to  ride;  —  suppose  we  draw 
upon  your  stock,  for  the  next  temperance 
tale."  —  "With  all  my  heart,  sir,"  replied 
the  clergyman.  "The  history  of  drunken 
ness  has  been  almost  an  universal  history 
Its  deep  lines  have  been  written  among  the 


THE    STAGE-COAC1I.  129 

people  of  every  city  and  village  upon  earth ; 
and  there  will  be  no  difficulty  in  gathering 
the  materials  together.  I  will  relate  to  you 
the  history  of  my  own  parish." 


THE    STAGE-COACH. 


PART    FIFTH. 


"  I  HAVE  been  the  minister  of  Micklefield 
for  four  and  twenty  years  ;  and  there  is  not, 
I  apprehend,  upon  the  surface  of  the  earth,  a 
town  of  equal  population,  whose  present  pros 
perity  is  more  certainly  attributable  to  the 
temperance  reform.  Twenty-four  years  ago, 
its  inhabitants  were  remarkable  fop  their  sloth, 
ignorance,  irreligion,  poverty  and  rags.  To 
swear  tike  a  MicMefield  man,  was  not  then 
less  a  proverb,  in  the  region  round  about,  than 
to  drink  like  a  Scythian,  among  the  Greeks 
of  old.  The  foundation  of  this  miserable  con 
dition  of  things  lay,  broad  and  deep,  in  the 
immemorial  habits  of  the  people.  They  were 
drunkards  of  a  drunken  stock.  Drunkenness 
there  had  so  long  and  so  triumphantly  pre 
vailed,  that,  in  the  language  of  the  law,  the 
memory  of  man  ran  not  to  the  contrary. 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  131 

"  When  I  was  first  settled,  three  distilleries 
were  in  full  operation  in  this  village.  Mic- 
klefield  is  situated  upon  the  banks  of  a  naviga 
ble  stream.  It  was  at  that  time  surrounded 
with  pitch-pine  forests.  No  position  could 
therefore  have  been  more  eligible  fora  distiller. 
It  would  be  an  interminable  task,  to  calculate 
the  amount  of  molasses,  that  came  up  this 
river,  or  the  rum  that  went  down.  Mickle- 
field,  some  four  and  twenty  years  ago,  was 
cursed  with  no  less  than  nine  men,  '  of  sober 
lives  and  conversations,'  who  perpetuated  in 
temperance,  and  kept  up  the  average  stock 
of  common  and  uncommon  drunkards,  from 
year  to  year.  At  the  period,  to  which  I  re 
fer,  I  well  remember,  that  twelve  barrels  of 
rum  were  the  annual  supply  for  the  poor- 
house.  Ammunition  has  never  been  accounted 
more  indispensable,  for  the  purposes  of  war, 
than  were  rum,  gin,  and  brandy,  for  the  pres 
ervation  of  the  social  compact,  among  the 
inhabitants  of  Micklefield.  The  vapors  of 
the  Asphaltite  lake,  if  its  ancient  legends  were 


132  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

other  than  fabulous,  could  not  have  proved 
more  fatal  to  those  luckless  birds,  that  at 
tempted  to  fly  over  its  noxious  waters,  than 
the  moral  atmosphere  of  Micklefield  to  such 
young  men,  as  ventured  to  reside,  for  any 
length  of  time,  within  its  borders.  He,  who 
will  live  at  Rome,  must  conform  to  the  habits 
of  the  Romans.  —  Never  was  the  proverb 
more  forcibly  employed,  than  upon  such  as 
came  from  time  to  time,  to  settle  within  the 
precincts  of  this  intemperate  village.  Few  — 
very  few  —  escaped  the  pestilential  influence, 
and  many  became  incorrigible  drunkards. 

"  That  man  must  have  been  destitute  in 
deed,  who  could  not  tender  to  his  visitor  the 
means  of  getting  drunk ;  and  none  but  an 
ascetic  or  an  anchorite  would  have  rejected 
the  boon.  The  proffered  cup  and  its  ready 
acceptance  were  equally  required,  by  the  exist 
ing  rules  of  good-breeding.  The  poor  widow, 
who  was  about  to  commit  her  drunken  hus 
band  to  the  ground,  would  have  been  account 
ed  guilty  of  gross  indecorum,  had  she  omitted 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  133 

to  grace  his  funeral  obsequies,  by  offering,  as 
a  refreshment,  the  very  poison,  which  had  put 
the  miserable  victim  out  of  life. 

"  My  predecessor,  in  the  ministry,  at  Mic- 
klefield,  was  a  gentleman  of  popular  manners. 
He  was  not  a  man  of  great  talents  as  a  preach 
er;  but,  in  the  parochial  relation,  he  had 
made  himself  universally  acceptable.  There 
was  not  a  man,  woman,  nor  child  in  the  vil 
lage  of  Micklefield,  to  whom  his  visits  were 
not  exceedingly  agreeable.  He  drank  and 
talked  politics  with  the  men ;  chatted  with 
the  women  about  their  dairies  and  poultry- 
yards  ;  and  never  failed  to  carry  in  his  pockets 
an  adequate  supply  of  gingerbread  and  candy 
for  the  children.  He  was  the  man  of  the 
people.  He  instituted  no  uncomfortable  es 
pionage,  touching  their  lack  of  spiritual  graces  ; 
and,  so  far  as  it  was  in  his  gift,  he  gave  them 
heaven,  pretty  much  upon  their  own  terms. 
He  died  at  the  early  age  of  thirty-eight,  hav 
ing  been  their  pastor  for  seven  years.  There 
was  but  one  opinion  of  his  virtues,  and  all 
were  perfectly  agreed  in  the  pronunciation  of 


134  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

the  sententious  and  significant  eulogium,  that 
Parson  Southerly  was  a  '  raal,  nice  man.9 
Had  he  lived,  at  the  present  time,  he  would 
have  been  called  an  intemperate  man  ;  yet, 
in  his  day,  such  an  imputation  would  have 
been  unpardonable  slander.  A  post  mortem 
examination  of  the  body,  in  connection  with  his 
well-known  habits,  readily  settled  the  question 
as  to  the  cause  of  his  decease.  Instead  of 
charging  his  death  to  intemperance,  however, 
it  was  simply  proclaimed,  that  his  internal 
organization  was  not  strong  enough  to  sustain 
life.  The  prolongation  of  existence,  in  those 
days,  was  a  more  difficult  affair,  than  it  is  at 
present.  The  terms  of  social  intercourse 
were  then  well  understood.  It  was  no  easy 
matter,  to  live  in  society  and  yet  violate  its 
laws.  While  many  were  allured  by  the  love 
of  intoxicating  liquor,  others  were  compelled 
by  the  fear  of  ridicule.  That  measure  of  in 
dulgence,  which,  in  our  auspicious  era,  would 
certainly  be  called  hard  drinking,  was  then 
accounted,  by  many,  one  of  the  conditions  of 
existence  in  the  social  state.  Millions,  whom 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  135 

\ve  should  now  consider  grossly  intemperate, 
have  been  committed  to  their  graves,  without 
a  whisper  of  reproach,  without  a  suspicion 
of  error  or  impropriety  in  regard  to  their 
habits  of  life. 

"  For  several  months  after  my  settlement 
at  Micklefield,  I  heard  little  beside  the  praises 
of  the  late  Mr.  Southerly.  My  spirits  were 
often  depressed,  by  the  ejaculations  of  the 
good  wives,  at  every  visitation.  — c  There 
never  was  any  thing  like  dear  Mr.  Southerly.' 
— c  We  shall  never  be  able  to  supply  poor 
Mr.  Southern's  loss.'  — '  O,  Mr.  Meredith, 
yon  don't  know  what  a  dear,  cheerful  soul, 
Mr.  Southerly  was.'  — <  Don't  mind  Tommy's 
running  his  hands  in  your  pockets,  Mr.  Mere 
dith  ;  he  thinks  it's  Mr.  Southerly,  who  always 
brought  him  gingerbread ;  blessed  man,  we 
never  shall  make  his  place  good.' 

"  Nevertheless  I  exerted  my  abilities  to  the 
utmost.  I  was  determined  to  please  the 
people,  and  I  did  not  perceive,  that  my 
qualifications  were  inferior  to  those  of  my 
highly-favored  predecessor.  I  resolved  to 


136  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

walk  in  his  steps  as  closely  as  possible.  I 
was  particularly  attentive  to  the  females  of 
my  parish ;  and,  as  I  had  the  advantage  over 
my  predecessor,  in  youth  and  personal  appear 
ance,  I  flattered  myself,  that  I  should  obtain 
their  suffrages  at  least.  I  chatted  sociably 
with  the  men,  and  tasted  their  flip  and  toddy, 
which,  by  the  way,  at  that  time,  were  never 
agreeable  to  me.  I  also  laid  in  a  respectable 
stock  of  gingerbread  and  candy.  Thus 
provided,  I  commenced  my  parochial  career, 
resolved  to  equal,  and  hoping  to  surpass,  my 
great  exemplar,  the  Reverend  Hallowell 
Southerly.  I  blush  to  think  how  small  a 
portion  of  my  thoughts  were  bestowed  upon 
the  spiritual  occasions  of  my  people.  I  trust 
God  has  forgiven  me,  and  that  the  devotion 
of  my  life,  for  the  last  twenty  years,  to  his 
service,  will  be  suffered  to  outweigh  my 
previous  delinquency. 

"  The  hardest  day's  duty,  which  I  have 
ever  performed,  was  the  first  of  my  parochial 
visitation  in  the  parish  of  Micklefield..  My 
parishioners  were  scattered  broadcast  over 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  137 

the  village.  It  was  my  intention  to  call  on 
every  family  ;  and  I  was  desirous,  that  I 
might  avoid  the  appearance  of  individual 
neglect,  to  compress  my  visitations  within  as 
little  time  as  possible.  I  marked  down  five 
and  twenty  visits  for  the  morning.  At  the 
very  first  house,  at  which  I  called,  though  it 
was  quite  early  in  the  day,  I  was  scarcely 
seated,  before  the  brandy-bottle  was  pro 
duced.  In  my  peculiar  situation,  my  reputa 
tion  at  stake,  and  the  example  of  the  Reverend 
Hallowell  Southerly  before  me,  it  would  have 
been  madness  to  refuse.  I  accordingly  swal 
lowed  my  first  pastoral  dram,  and  had  the 
satisfaction  to  perceive,  that  I  had  made  a 
favorable  impression.  As  I  rose  to  go,  I  put 
into  Mrs.  Mullikin's  hands  a  few  sticks  of 
candy,  and  begged  her  to  give  them  to  her 
children.  I  was  a  little  embarrassed  by  the 
good  woman's  tittering  laugh,  as  she  informed 
me,  that  they  had  been  married  nine  years, 
without  any  prospect  of  an  heir.  When  I 
had  gotten  half  through  my  allotted  task,  I 
began  to  feel  some  doubts  of  my  ability  to 
12 


138  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

persevere.  1  had  stopped  at  the  house  of  a 
Widow  Bloornfield,  having  then  made  thirteen 
pastoral  visits,  and  drunken  the  same  number 
of  drains.  The  poor  widow,  who  was  in  a 
very  humble  condition  of  life,  had  set  upon 
the  table  a  common  black  bottle  of  New 
England  rum,  with  a  broken  sugar-bowl,  con 
taining  a  little  brown  sweetening,  and  an  iron 
spoon.  I  thought  I  might  venture  to  refuse, 
without  giving  offence.  '  Hadn't  you  better? ' 
said  she,  with  a  half-inquiring,  half-mortified 
expression.  —  'No,  I  thank  you,  Mrs.  Bloom- 
field,'  said  I,  'I  have  no  occasion.' — *I  saw 
you  come  out  of  Squire  Hodgedon's,'  said 
she ;  *  I  guess  you  got  some  Jamaica  at  the 
Squire's,  didn't  you,  Mr.  Meredith  ? '  — c  Yes,' 
I  replied,  '  I  took  a  little.' — '  I  thought  so, ' 
said  she;  c  lack-a-day !  how  this  world  goes  by 
favor !  Mr.  Bloomfield  was  well  on't  once 
himself,  and  we  used  to  keep  a  leetle  o'  the 
West  India  just  to  treat  with.  But — ah  dear 
me  !  —  a  poor  lone  woman's  got  no  better  than 
her  best.  Did  you  know  Mr.  Southerly  ? ' 
—  CI  never  saw  him,'  said  I.  — '  Well,  I 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  139 

spose  not,'  she  replied  ;  c  he  was  a  saint  upon 
earth ;  he  used  to  say,  the  Lord  was  no 
respecter  of  persons,  and  no  more  wasn't  he ; 
and  then  he'd  take  and  pour  out  half  a 
tumbler  out  o'  that  are  vary  black  bottle,  as 
sociable  as  ever  you  see.'  — c  Well,  well, 
Mrs.  Bloomfield,'  said  I,  c  it  was  not  from  any 
disrespect,  and  I'll  take  a  little  of  your  spirit 
with  pleasure.'  I  accordingly,  inexpressibly 
against  my  feelings,  swallowed  my  fourteenth 
dram.  — l  There,'  cried  the  poor  woman, 
c  now  I'll  come  and  hear  you  preach  ;  but  if 
you  hadn't  done  the  civil  thing,  you  wouldn't 
ha'  cotched  me  inside  your  meeting-house,  I 
tell  ye.' 

(i  My  next  call  was  at  the  house  of  Farmer 
Kidder.  He  was  an  old  man,  and  the  richest 
farmer  in  the  county.  In  rustic  phraseology, 
they  were  excellent  livers,  —  those  that  sur 
vived,  —  three  of  the  old  man's  sons  had  died 
intemperate,  within  the  four  years  preceding. 
I  had  scarcely  entered  their  bettermost  room, 
when  the  old  lady  came  hobbling  towards  me, 
holding  a  pitcher,  smoking  hot.  — '  We  seed 


140  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

you,  Mr.  Meredith,'  said  she,  '  as  you  was  a 
going  into  the  widow  Bloomfield's,  and  we 
knew  you'd  give  us  a  call  ;  so  I  said  to  the 
galls,  says  I,  —  Galls,  roast  a  couple  o'  the  hest 
Baldwins,  galls,  and  clap  in  the  poker,  for 
he'll  be  here  in  a  jiffy.  You  got  pretty 
streaked  stuff,  I  guess,  at  the  poor  widow's  ; 
howsomesever,  she's  a  gin'rous  old  soul,  what 
there  is  of  her,  and  she'll  give  ye  the  best 
she's  got,  any  how.  There,  Mr.  Meredith, 
taste  o'  this  here  apple-toddy.'  —  She  poured 
out  a  full  tumbler.  I  felt  myself  excessively 
dizzy  and  confused,  and  was  sensible  already, 
that  I  had  lost  the  power  of  distinct  articula 
tion,  yet  I  dared  not  refuse,  at  the  house  of 
one  of  my  wealthiest  parishioners.  The 
toddy  was  excellent.  I  said  so,  cautiously 
avoiding  long  words,  and  fixing  my  eyes 
upon  a  particular  object  to  keep  my  head 
from  swimming.  The  old  lady  was  in 
raptures,  and  poured  out  a  second  tumbler. 
I  signified  my  reluctance,  by  an  uplifted  hand 
and  a  shake  of  the  head.  She  persisted 
however,  and  her  daughters  were  importunate. 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  141 

CO,  Mr.  Meredith,'  cried  the  old  woman. 
<  dear  good  Mr.  Southerly  always  took  two. 
He  used  to  say,  if  the  first  made  him  feel  a 
leetle  queerish,  the  second  sobered  him  again. 
A  hair  o'  the  same  dog,  you  know,  Mr. 
Meredith.'  —  For  an  instant,  it  occurred  to 
me,  that  I  was  already  drunk,  —  that  the  old 
woman  and  her  daughters  had  discovered  my 
situation,  and  were  making  themselves  merry 
at  my  expense.  I  felt  the  blood  rushing  to 
my  forehead.  —  A  hasty  glance  at  the  trio 
reassured  me,  however,  in  a  moment.  Though 
I  was  then  unquestionably  the  worse  for 
liquor,  they  were  either  unconscious  or  regard 
less  of  a  matter,  so  exceedingly  familiar  to  them 
all,  and  continued  to  press  their  civility,  until 
their  tipsy  minister  had  swallowed  the  second 
potation  of  apple-toddy. 

"  When  I  regained  the  road,  I  resolved  to 
get  home  as  soon  as  possible.  Ten  of  my 
destined  visitations  were  unperformed.  In  a 
few  hours,  including  my  two  tumblers  of 
apple-toddy,  I  had  taken  sixteen  drams,  and 
was  fully  sensible,  that  I  was  shamefully 


142  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

drank.  I  kept  my  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
centre  of  the  road,  and  walked  rapidly,  occa 
sionally  running  a  rod  or  two,  when  I  felt 
myself  inclining  to  stagger.  In  this  manner 
I  had  nearly  reached  my  lodgings,  when 
Deacon  Anthony  ran  out  from  his  house 
to  speak  with  me.  He  urged  me  to  stop, 
but  I  told  him,  that  I  was  troubled  with, 
sickness  at  the  stomach.  — c  It's  a  sharp 
morning/  said  he,  c  and  you'll  be  better,  if 
you  step  in  and  take  a  glass  of  brandy  or 
some  bitters.'  I  positively  declined,  however, 
and,  hastening  home,  repaired  to  my  cham 
ber,  —  locked  the  door,  —  and  threw  myself 
upon  my  bed. 

"  My  landlady  was  a  kind-hearted  widow, 
between  fifty  and  sixty  years  of  age.  She 
had  the  reputation  of  sincerity  and  discretion. 
1  became  excessively  sick,  and  my  desire  for 
some  species  of  relief  finally  surmounted  my 
reluctance  to  make  a  full  confession  of  m> 
shame  and  folly.  —  I  requested  my  landlady 
to  step  into  my  chamber,  and,  with  very  con 
siderable  stammering  and  circumlocution,  made 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  143 

a  clean  breast  before  this  truly  catholic  con 
fessor,  —  who  laughed  heartily  at  my  confu 
sion.  '  Bless  you,  Mr.  Meredith/  said  she, 
<  what  a  terrible  fuss  you  have  made  about 
just  nothing  at  all.  Why,  I  certainly  thought 
you  was  going  to  tell  me  you  was  in  debt,  or 
ia  love,  or  something  of  that  sort.  You 
must  have  some  boiling  hot  coffee  and  but 
tered  toast.  That's  what  I  used  to  ^et  always 

a 

for  Mr.  Southerly.  He  boarded  with  me  two 
years,  when  he  was  first  settled.  He  was 
corned  twenty  times,  before  he  got  seasoned. 
You'll  get  used  to  it,  one  of  these  days,  Mr. 
Meredith,  just  as  Mr.  Southerly  did.'  —  From 
that  time,  I  conceived  a  very  high  opinion  of 
my  landlady  ;  her  coffee  and  buttered  toast 
relieved  my  body  of  no  small  portion  of  its 
torment,  and  the  very  philosophical  view, 
which  she  had  taken  of  the  whole  affair, 
afforded  unspeakable  comfort  to  my  mind. 
There  can  be  no  more  perfect  illustration  of 
the  imperfection  of  my  own  moral  sense,  nor 
of  the  weakness  of  rny  own  principles,  at  that 
period  of  my  life. 


144  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

"  Upon  the  following  morning,  I  was  suf 
ficiently  recovered,  to  resume  the  performance 
of  my  parochial  duties.  Experience,  how 
ever,  had  taught  me  to  husband  my  energies  ; 
I  soon  found,  that  I  could  bear  half  a  dozen 
drams,  of  a  morning,  exceedingly  well,  and  I 
limited  my  pastoral  visits  accordingly.  In  the 
course  of  three  or  four  months,  I  had  become 
perfectly  familiar  with  the  duties  of  my  voca 
tion,  as  I  then  understood  them ;  and  that 
frequent  use  of  stimulants,  which  had  been 
decidedly  disagreeable  in  the  commencement 
of  rny  pastoral  career,  in  less  than  six  months, 
became  not  only  agreeable,  but  even  es 
sential,  as  I  then  imagined,  to  my  health 
and  comfort.  At  ordinations,  funerals,  and 
weddings,  I  fully  sustained  my  character,  as  a 
worthy  successor  of  the  Reverend  Hallowell 
Southerly. 

"  He,  who  has  taken  the  king's  bounty, 
saith  the  proverb,  must  stand  by  the  monarch 
and  his  cause.  I  had  so  far  sanctioned  the 
habits  of  my  parishioners,  by  my  own  practi 
cal  acquiescence,  that,  if  I  had  been  willing 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  145 

to  admonish,  the  language  of  reproof  would 
have  come  with  an  ill  grace  from  their  pastor. 
Words  of  sage  counsel  fall  but  with  feeble 
power  upon  a  drunkard's  ear,  from  alcoholic 
lips.  Of  all  the  follies  and  vices,  which 
came  to  my  knowledge,  intemperance  and  its 
manifold  effects  were  the  last,  which  I  felt 
myself  at  liberty  to  rebuke.  During  the  first 
four  years  of  my  ministry,  many  drunkards 
paid  the  debt  of  nature  in  the  village  of 
Micklefield  ;  and  I  doubt,  if  there  be  a  place 
of  sepulture  upon  earth,  containing  an  equal 
congregation  of  the  dead,  whence  a  greater 
number  will  arise,  in  the  day  of  the  resurrec 
tion,  from  the  drunkard's  grave. 

"  During  these  three  or  four  years,  I  do  not 
deny,  that  I  had  many  compunctious  visita 
tions  of  conscience.  The  weight  of  my 
responsibility  occasionally  became  oppressive ; 
and,  more  than  once,  I  resolved  to  abandon 
my  faithless  stewardship,  and  win  my  bread, 
in  some  humbler  vocation.  I  think  I  should 
have  done  so,  if  the  intercessions  of  Deacon 
Anthony  had  not  prevailed  against  my  judg- 
13 


146  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

ment  at  that  time.  The  deacon  was  an 
excellent  man  ;  but,  according  to  the  univer 
sal  practice  of  the  age,  he  used  brandy,  as  a 
common  beverage.  He  candidly  declared  to 
me,  that  it  was  a  great  help  to  him  in  prayer 
and  exhortation.  I  told  him,  that  I  had 
sometimes  been  pricked  with  a  conviction, 
that  I  was  an  unfaithful  steward ;  that  I 
beheld  drunkards  dying  all  around  me  ;  that, 
although  there  was  a  great  amount  of  drunk 
enness  in  almost  every  other  village,  Mickle- 
field  had  become  a  by-word ;  that,  when  I 
first  became  its  minister,  I  was  temperate,  and 
even  abstemious;  but  now,  I  had  so  fallen 
under  the  influence  of  the  social  rule,  that  I 
often  felt  myself  the  worse  for  liquor;  and 
that  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  ask  a  dismission. 
—  I  must  honestly  admit,  that,  while  the 
lady  was  relating  her  narrative  of  the  unfor 
tunate  Mr.  Pottle,  my  thoughts  were  repeat 
edly  carried  back  to  the  first  four  years  of  my 
ministry  in  Micklefield.  —  Deacon  Anthony 
begged  me  not  to  think  of  a  separation.  He 
assured  me,  that  I  was  quite  as  popular  as 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  147 

Mr.  Southerly  had  been,  in  his  very  best 
days;  that  the  people  were  not  worse  than 
they  had  been,  at  that  time  ;  that  spirit, 
though  a  good  thing,  and  one  of  the  neces 
saries  of  life,  would,  like  other  good  things, 
be  abused  by  some  people  of  course  ;  that 
there  had  always  been  about  seventy  or 
eighty  common  drunkards  in  Micklefield, 
for  forty  years,  ever  since  he  had  kept  shop, 
and  that  the  population  had  remained  about 
the  same ;  that  it  did  not  seem  to  him  that 
seventy  drunkards  in  a  population  of  seven 
hundred  were  more  than  might  be  expected ; 
that,  whether  I  staid  or  went,  things  would 
go  on  much  after  the  old  sort ;  and  that  the 
people  would  make  the  parish  too  hot  for  any 
minister,  that  drew  the  cord  too  tight  for  them. 
I  told  the  deacon,  that  there  was  a  great 
amount  of  intemperance  in  Micklefield, 
among  those,  who  would  never  be  accounted 
common  drunkards ;  that  I  should  be  unwill 
ing  to  be  ranked  in  that  class  myself;  but 
that  I  was  convinced  my  habits  had  already 
injured  my  health  and  diminished  my  useful 


148  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

ness.  The  deacon  smiled,  and  told  me  I  was 
apt  to  be  low-spirited ;  and,  with  such  a 
patronizing  and  confident  expression,  poured 
out  and  handed  me  a  glass  of  bitters,  that  I 
swallowed  the  prescription,  half  satisfied  that 
my  opinions  were  vain  imaginations  after  all, 
possibly  the  result  of  hypochondriasis. 

"  Upon  one  point  I  could  not  be  deceived : 
I  had  lost  my  appetite  and  strength ;  my 
slumbers  were  broken  and  unrefreshing ; 
pains  in  the  head,  stomach,  and  bowels 
tormented  me  with  little  interruption ;  and 
my  craving  for  strong  drink  became  more 
troublesome  and  uncontrollable. 

"  Shortly  after  I  had  made  a  statement 
of  my  views  and  feelings  to  Deacon  Anthony, 
I  was  called  to  administer  Christian  consola 
tion  to  a  parishioner,  who  was  upon  her 
death-bed.  Mrs.  Kidder  had  buried  her 
husband  about  eight  months  before.  He  was 
a  very  respectable  drunkard.  I  mean  to  say, 
that,  for  some  years  before  his  death,  he  was 
careful  never  to  appear  abroad,  when  he  was 
the  worse  for  liquor.  He  never  frequented 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  149 

the  dram-shops  of  the  village ;  but,  being  a 
wealthy  farmer,  his  house  was  most  hospita 
bly  stored  with  the  means  of  indulgence,  and 
he  confined  his  operations  to  the  bosom  of 
his  family.  His  widow  was  now  about  to  be 
called  from  this  world.  Her  death  was  a 
hard  one.  She  dreaded  to  die,  or  rather  hei 
agonized  spirit  longed  to  live.  Our  miserable 
relation  to  each  other  had  poorly  qualified  me 
for  the  office  of  counsellor,  in  such  an  hour 
as  this.  I  have  never  felt  my  sinful  deficien 
cy  more  sensibly  than  upon  this  occasion.  It 
was  an  awful  trial.  When  I  entered.  Dr. 
Snuffler,  the  physician  of  Micklefield,  was 
present,  and  no  other  person,  excepting  the 
old  lady's  daughters.  Her  mind  was 
highly  excited,  partly  by  bodily  pain,  partly 
by  the  dread  of  dissolution,  and  partly  by 
liquor.  I  felt  myself  exceedingly  embar 
rassed  in  the  performance  of  my  duty.  The 
familiar,  and  even  undignified,  intercourse, 
which  was  an  unavoidable  consequence  of 
the  dram-drinking  habits  of  the  times,  not  only 
deprived  the  present  occasion  of  its  solemnity, 


150  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

but  filled  the  principal  performer  with  a  sense 
of  unseasonable  diffidence  and  shame. — 
c  Dear  Dr.  Snuffler,'  said  the  poor  victim,  as 
I  drew  near  the  bed,  '  I  won't  die.'  — c  Well, 
well/  said  the  doctor,  '  we'll  see  about  it ; 
maybe  you  won't.'  — '  I  tell  you  I  won't  die,' 
she  replied.  — £  The  old  lady's  pretty  much 
lost  her  mind,'  said  the  doctor.  — c  No  such 
thing,'  said  she ;  '  I  tell  you  I  won't  die  —  I 
won't.'  —  'Mrs.  Kidder,'  said  the  doctor, 
'  here's  Mr.  Meredith,  come  to  make  a 
prayer.'  — c  I  won't  have  no  prayer,'  said 
she  ;  '  I'll  have  some  more  apple-toddy.'  — 
c  She's  had  four  tumblers  this  forenoon,'  said 
one  of  the  daughters.  — c  Never  mind,'  said 
the  doctor,  ( it'll  make  no  difference;  give 
her  another,  and  she'll  lay  quieter  during  the 
prayer.'  In  such  a  condition  of  things,  I 
attempted  to  pray,  the  old  lady  interrupting 
me  continually  with  cries  for  apple-toddy, 
and  declarations  that  she  would  not  die. — 
I  resumed  my  seat.  —  The  sweat  stood  in  big 
drops  upon  my  brow.  — '  You  are  not  well 
yourself,  Mr.  Meredith/  said  the  doctor,  as  he 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  151 

felt  my  pulse. — I  made  no  reply.  —  My 
spirit  had  never  been  so  exercised  before. 
As  I  prayed,  the  thought  overpowered  me, 
that  I  had  been  nearly  four  years  the  pastor 
of  this  dying,  impenitent  sinner,  and  that  I 
had  done  literally  —  absolutely  —  nothing,  for 
the  salvation  of  her  soul.  —  I  almost  fancied 
myself  at  the  bar  of  God,  holding  in  my 
trembling  hand  the  barren  record  of  my 
miserable  stewardship.  —  The  doctors  atten 
tion  was  soon  called  to  the  dying  woman. — 
*  She  is  going,'  said  he,  — £  see,  how  she 
catches  at  the  bed-clothes ! '  Amidst  the 
sound  of  the  death-rattle  in  her  throat, 
though  more  and  more  faintly,  she  continued 
to  exclaim,  £  I  won't  —  I  won't.'  —  The 
ruling  passion  was  still  strong  in  death,  —  for 
the  very  last  words  that  I  heard  were  — 
c  apple-toddy.' —  One  strong  convulsion  closed 
the  scene. 

"  I  returned  to  my  lodgings  in  a  state  of 
great  mental  depression.  The  exertions  of 
my  well-meaning  landlady  to  raise  my  spirits 
were  ineffectual.  I  passed  a  restless  night, 


152  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

and  the  next  morning  was  unable  to  rise  from 
my  bed.  My  habits  had  undoubtedly  affect 
ed  my  general  health.  Dr.  Snuffler  was 
called  in,  and  stated  that  my  symptoms  were 
such  as  commonly  preceded  a  typhus  fever. 
His  prognostications  were  correct.  For 
seven  weeks,  I  was  confined  to  my  chamber ; 
and,  during  a  considerable  portion  of  that 
time,  I  was  delirious.  When,  at  length,  it 
pleased  God  to  restore  my  reason,  the  first 
object,  which  engrossed  my  attention,  was  a 
young  man,  about  four  and  twenty  years 
of  age,  who  was  sitting  by  my  bed-side,  and 
holding  my  hand.  I  gazed  intently  upon  his 
features ;  —  they  were  those  of  an  utter 
stranger.  I  had  never  beheld  an  expression 
more  perfectly  gentle  and  serene.  — f  I  have 
been  wild  and  wandering,'  said  I.  —  The 
stranger  made  no  answer  to  my  remark,  but 
eyed  me  with  a  look  of  doubtful  scrutiny,  as 
one  who  still  questioned  the  perfect  restora 
tion  of  my  reason.  — '  To  whom,'  said  I, 
'am  I  indebted,  for  these  kind  attentions?' 
—  cMy  name  is  Anderson,'  he  replied.  <I 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  153 

have  supplied  your  pulpit  for  the  last  two 
Sabbaths.'  — '  Ah,  my  friend/  said  I,  cif  you 
have  told  my  people  the  whole  truth,  you 
have  told  them  that,  which  they  have  never 
heard  from  their  unworthy  pastor.5  —  His 
countenance  became  suddenly  grave,  and 
even  austere.  — c  Mr.  Meredith/  said  he, 
'  you  are  too  feeble  for  this  topic  at  present. 
You  have  been  very  ill ;  you  have  been  in 
peril ;  your  life  has  been  despaired  of.  I 
have  knelt  daily  at  your  bed-side ;  will  it  not 
soothe  your  spirit,  to  have  me  offer  thanks 
giving  for  the  restoration  of  your  reason  ? '  — 
<O,  yes,  my  friend,'  said  I;  — ' but  stay, — 
I  have  been  a  faithless  shepherd,  for  more 
than  three  years,  and  have  not  fed  the  sheep, 
that  have  been  committed  to  my  care.  This 
awful  consciousness  has  aggravated  my  dis 
temper.'  — '  It  has  been  the  subject  of  your 
incoherent  prayers,  and  wild  ejaculations, 
during  your  illness,'  said  he.  —  'I  have 
vowed,  if  the  Lord  should  spare  me,'  con 
tinued  I,  '  to  lead  a  new  life,  and  to  serve 
God,  and  not  Baal ;  pray,  I  beseech  you, 


Iff 

154  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

that  I  may  have  the  influence  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,  and  that  I  may  keep  this  vow  to  the 
end/  —  He  dropped  upon  his  knees;  and, 
by  the  zeal  and  energy  of  his  supplication, 
this  young  man  filled  my  heart  with  the 
pure  spirit  of  devotion,  and  my  eyes  with 
tears. 

"  My  recovery  was  rapid.  I  did  not  see 
my  friend  Anderson  again,  until  he  came  to 
preach  at  Micklefield,  on  the  following  Sab 
bath.  He  passed  the  evening  of  that  day  in 
my  chamber.  I  again  told  him,  that  I  had 
been  an  unfaithful  shepherd.  After  a  brief 
pause,  during  which,  he  became  exceedingly 
solemnized,  c  you  have  recovered  your  strength 
surprisingly,5  said  he,  c  since  I  saw  you  last ; 
and  I  think  we  may  now  safely  converse  upon 
this  subject,  if  it  be  your  will.'  I  assured 
him  it  would  give  me  pleasure,  to  open  my 
whole  heart  to  any  faithful  disciple,  and  that 
I  knew  I  should  gather  strength  of  purpose, 
by  a  community  of  counsel  and  of  prayer.  — 
'  I  have  been  unfaithful  to  my  trust,'  said  I, 
«  but  I  have  vowed  before  God,  to  be  so  no 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  155 

more.  The  fixed  purpose  of  my  soul  is  to 
keep  this  vow  ;  and  I  impute  my  advance  in 
health  and  strength,  to  that  condition  of  mind, 
in  which  I  have  been,  ever  since  I  recovered 
the  use  of  my  reason.  I  can  now  say,  that 
my  heart  is  fixed.  If  I  can  get  into  my 
pulpit  again,  I  will  do  my  duty,  which  I  have 
left  undone,  between  three  and  four  years.  I 
have  been  somewhat  surprised  at  the  inatten 
tion  of  my  parishioners  during  my  illness.  — 
Yet  why  should  I  be  surprised  at  their  neglect 
of  me,  who  have  so  sadly  neglected  them  ? 
Four  days  have  gone  by,  since  any  one  of  them 
came  near  me,  excepting  my  landlady ;  then 
Deacon  Anthony  called ;  and,  when  I  told 
him  frankly  my  opinion  of  myself,  he  replied, 
that  I  was  weak  in  body  and  mind,  and  that 
I  should  feel  very  differently,  when  I  came 
to  move  about  and  take  a  little  meat  and 
drink.  When  I  told  him,  however,  that  I 
intended  to  preach  the  whole  truth,  he  inter 
rupted  me  rather  fretfully,  and  observed  that 
it  never  would  answer  to  preach  the  whole 
truth  in  Micklefield  ;  and  that,  if  my  salary 


356  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

were  of  any  importance,  I  had  better  look  be 
fore  I  leaped.  I  told  him  with  great  firmness, 
that  I  should  leap  no  where  but  into  the  Lord's 
arms,  and  that  I  should  not  look  to  see  what 
man  could  do  unto  me.  He  said,  that  1 
should  only  throw  the  parish  into  confusion ; 
and,  taking  his  hat,  remarked,  as  he  left  the 
room,  that  he  was  sorry  I  had  gotten  such 
new-light  notions  in  my  head.  — c  My  friend/ 
said  Mr.  Anderson,  (  I  have  just  now  parted 
with  the  deacon,  who  made  almost  the  same 
observation  to  me,  when  describing  your  state 
of  mind.  I  am  rejoiced  to  find  you  are  still 
resolved  to  atone  for  your  errors.  Though  I 
am  younger  than  you,  it  is  my  duty  to  speak 
frankly  to  my  brother.  I  cannot  doubt  the  truth 
of  all  that  you  so  freely  admit.  During  the  time 
that  I  have  been  among  your  people,  I  have 
had  sufficient  opportunity  to  judge  of  the  rela 
tion,  in  which  you  stand  to  each  other.  They 
have  all  the  marks  and  numbers  of  a  people, 
whose  spiritual  welfare  has  been  neglected. 
Observe  their  conduct  in  regard  to  their  sick, 
and,  as  many  of  them  have  supposed,  their 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  157 

dying  pastor.  They  have  already  negotia 
ted  to  supply  your  place ;  and,  when  it 
was  thought  you  could  not  survive.  Deacon 
Anthony  inquired  of  me,  on  what  terms  I 
should  be  willing  to  become  the  pastor  of 
Micklefield.  I  had  never  preached  in  your 
pulpit,  at  that  time.  He  observed,  that  the 
people  were  poor,  and  could  pay  but  little  ; 
yet  he  thought,  as  I  was  quite  a  young  man, 
I  should  like  the  chance,  and  might  be  willing 
to  work  cheap.  I  told  him,  that  I  desired  to 
labor  in  the  Lord's  vineyard,  but  could  listen 
to  no  proposals,  under  such  circumstances  ; 
I  agreed,  however,  to  supply  the  pulpit.  I 
preached  the  first  Sabbath,  to  a  most  inatten 
tive  and  disorderly  congregation.  When  I 
came  again,  I  dined  at  his  house  ;  and  he  ob 
served  to  me,  that  it  had  got  about  in  the 
parish,  that  I  was  opposed  to  the  use  of  spirit. 
I  replied,  that  I  never  made  use  of  it  myself, 
and  was  of  opinion,  that  it  was  frequently  in 
jurious  to  others.  He  made  no  further  re 
mark.  When  I  was  getting  into  my  chaise, 
to  leave  Micklefield,  after  the  afternoon  ser- 


158  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

vice,  "  Mr.  Anderson,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  want 
you  to  suppose  I  had  any  authority  for  what 
I  said  to  you,  about  settling  in  our  village,  in 
case  Mr.  Meredith  should  die.  It  was  only 
a  notion  of  my  own  ;  and,  if  so  be  he  shouldn't 
get  through,  it's  like  as  not  we  mightn't  settle 
any  body  right  away."  —  'I  do  not  wish  to 
wound  your  feelings,'  continued  Mr.  Ander 
son,  as  he  kindly  took  my  hand,  '  but  I  think 
it  my  duty  to  give  you  some  idea  of  the  man 
ner,  in  which  a  neglected,  misguided  people 
deliver  their  sentiments  of  their  pastor.  Last 
Sabbath,  as  no  provision  was  made  for  my 
accommodation  elsewhere,!  dined  at  the  public 
house.  The  tavern  was  literally  crammed, 
during  the  intermission,  and  the  calls  for  every 
variety  of  stimulant,  afforded  abundant  em 
ployment,  for  the  inn-keeper  and  his  two  sons. 
The  congregation  was  scarcely  dismissed, 
when  a  sort  of  trade-wind  seemed  to  waft 
them  all,  excepting  a  few,  who  resided  near 
the  meeting-house,  directly  to  the  tavern. 
The  day  was  rather  warm,  and  the  host  and 
his  two  sons,  instantly  throwing  off  their  coats, 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  159 

prepared  for  a  regular  stir-up.  They  had 
their  hands  full.  More  than  one  stepped  into 
the  apartment,  in  which  I  sat,  and  tendered  a 
portion  of  his  toddy  ;  and  such  are  the  times, 
on  which  we  have  fallen,  that  my  refusal, 
though  couched  in  civil  terms,  was  evidently 
offensive.  In  the  afternoon,  I  preached  an 
unusually  solemn  discourse,  on  timely  repent 
ance  ;  and  its  operation  was  by  no  meano  such 
as  I  desired.  I  was  grieved  and  surprised,  as 
I  occasionally  cast  my  eyes  around  upon  the 
people,  to  witness  the  unchristian  effect,  pro 
duced  by  my  sermon.  It  was  a  warm  day, 
as  I  have  remarked,  and  several  were  nod 
ding  ;  others  sat,  with  their  heads  thrown 
back  upon  the  rails  of  their  pews,  and  their 
mouths  wide  open,  in  profound  slumber.  One 
elderly  person,  in  the  north-easterly  corner 
pew,  snored  aloud,  and  the  young  people  had 
so  little  restraining  grace,  that  they  tittered 
and  giggled  outright ;  and  a  tall,  round-shoul 
dered  young  woman,  about  eighteen  years  of 
age,  stuffed  her  handkerchief  into  her  mouth, 
and  ran  out  of  the  meeting-house.  Those, 

' 


160  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

who  kept  themselves  awake,  looked  exces 
sively  angry,  and  even  ready  to  fight ;  so  un 
willing  were  they  to  hear  of  their  sinfulness, 
of  the  necessity  of  repentance,  of  the  certainty 
of  death,  and  of  the  final  judgment.  —  I  went 
to  the  tavern  for  my  horse  and  chaise  ;  a  con 
siderable  number  of  persons  had  arrived  there 
before  me.  I  waited  in  the  porch,  while  my 
vehicle  was  getting  ready.  For  a  short  time 
sullen  silence  prevailed  among  the  group,  that 
was  gathered  in  the  adjoining  bar-room.  The 
host  and  his  two  sons  were  again  as  busily  occu 
pied  as  ever.  Significant  glances,  shrugs,  winks, 
and  looks  of  mock  solemnity,  were  exchanged, 
whose  reference  to  me  was  perfectly  intelli 
gible. — "Hot  weather  outo'  doors,"  said  one. 
—  "  Tarnal  hot  in  the  meet'n'us  this  art'noon," 
cried  another.  —  This  produced  a  peal  of 
laughter.  —  "  How's  Meredith  a  coming  on?" 
inquired  a  third.  —  "  That  are's  the  man  I 
likes  to  hear,"  said  a  miserable  object,  evident 
ly  grossly  intemperate,  and  whom  I  recognized 
as  one  of  those,  whose  proffered  toddy  I  had 
rejected,  during  the  intermission.  "  Meredith's 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  161 

the  right  sort  of  a a  leetil  more  sweet- 

'nin,  if  you  please  —  the  right  sort  of  a  Chris 
tian.  He  gives  ye  raal,  ginivine  liberal  sar- 
ments.  He's  none  o'  your  hell-fire  folks,  not 
he  ;  and  that  aan't  all.  —  Meredith's  a  gentle 
man,  every  inch  on  him ;  you  won't  catch 
him  a  refusing  a  poor  man's  toddy,  no  time  o' 
day."  —  "  Is  Meredith  a  going  to  get  well  ?  " 
said  the  first  speaker,  "  or  will  he  kick  the 
bucket,  eh  ? " —  "  I  don  know,"  replied  the  per 
son  addressed ;  "  how's  rye  now  ?  "  —  "  Pret 
ty  fair,  the  very  best  kind,"  replied  the  other  ; 
"  tell  us,  though,  if  you  know  any  thing  about 
it,  is  he  raal  sick,  or  a  playing  the  old  sojer 
—  don't  want  to  preach,  maybe  —  eh  ?  "  — 
"  No,  I  guess  'tis'nt  that,"  said  the  person  in 
quired  of;  Mery's  pretty  much  stunted,  I 
reckon.  He  was  taken  down  the  very  day 
Widow  Kidder  died.  They  say,  he  took  the 
old  woman's  death  proper  hard."  —  "  Well," 
cried  another,  "  'twas  a  great  loss  to  him  ;  there 
isn't  her  match  for  apple-toddy  in  our  county. 
My  stars,  what  metheglin  the  old  lady  used 
to  make  !  Here  comes  the  doctor  ;  he'll  tell 


162  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

us  all  about  it.  —  Doctor,  how's  our  minister 
getting  on  ?  "  —  "  Very  cleverly,"  said  the 
doctor ;  "  he'll  be  out  again  afore  long.  He 
has  a  better  constitution  than  poor  Southerly 
had,  and  can  stand  spirit  a  good  deal  longer, 
but  it  affects  his  head,  and  queerifies  him 
quicker.  He's  a  clever  fellow,  and  I  shall 
do  my  best  to  get  him  on  his  legs  again."  — 
"That's  you,  doctor,"  cried  the  poor,  feeble 
wretch,  who  was  angry  with  me  for  refusing 
his  toddy  ;  "  gi'me  Bill  Meredith  for  my  min 
ister,  afore  all  your  canting  orthodox  hypo 
crites.  He's  the  pleasantest  and  the  socia- 
blest  minister  ever  I  see ;  I  won't  except 
Southerly.  Bless  my  body,  how  funny  he 
does  make  town-meeting!  My  old  woman 
says  she  doesn't  want  to  hear  much  about 
t'other  world,  when  she  can  get  him  to  crack 
his  jokes,  and  tell  cozy  stories  about  this." 3 
"Mr.  Anderson  paused,  and  looked  me 
steadily  in  the  face.  — c  My  friend,'  said  I, 
after  a  brief  pause, '  your  remarks  cut  me  to  the 
soul ;  but  I  deserve  them  all,  and  many  more. 
If  the  Lord  shall  give  me  length  of  days, 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  163 

by  his  help  I  will  do  my  duty  in  this  heritage 
of  thistles  ;  and,  if  I  cannot  succeed  in  making 
this  moral  wilderness  to  blossom  like  the 
rose,  I  will,  at  least,  devote  my  best  energies 
to  the  removal  of  those  tares  and  brambles, 
which  I  have  wilfully  permitted  to  accumu 
late,  when  I  might  have  resisted  their  in 
crease.  I  speak  not  without  reflection. 
Day  and  night,  since  the  recovery  of  my 
reason,  I  have  diligently  and  prayerfully 
employed  it  in  this  behalf.  I  have  digested 
my  plans.  My  settlement  is  for  life.  I 
cannot  be  removed,  but  for  such  grounds  of 
offence,  as  are  well  understood.  The  popular 
process  for  the  ejection  of  a  clergyman,  who 
renders  himself  obnoxious,  by  opposing  the 
vicious  inclinations  of  his  parishioners,  we  all 
understand  ;  and  it  has  been  often  and  success 
fully  employed.  Gratuities  and  facilities, 
which  he  has  hitherto  received,  are  to  be 
withheld.  This  is  a  matter  of  course,  and  I 
sount  it  as  nothing.  His  salary  is  to  be  cut 
clown,  and  the  process  of  starvation  is  to  be 
conducted  against  him,  as  energetically  by  his 


164  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

parish,  as  it  is  by  a  besieging  army  against 
the  tenants  of  a  citadel.  For  this  I  am 
prepared ;  I  am  willing  to  be  poor,  that  I 
may  make  many  rich ;  I  am  ready  to  serve 
the  Lord  on  bread  and  water.  I  have  been  a 
great  sinner,  and  I  fervently  desire  to  present 
upon  God's  holy  altars,  some  practical  evi 
dence  of  my  repentance.  I  ardently  long  to 
save  one  soul  alive!'  —  My  friend  clasped 
my  hands,  and  exclaimed,  i  Go  on,  and  may 
God  support  you !  Paul,  thus  converted, 
became  an  advocate  of  Christ.'  —  I  informed 
my  friend,  that  I  intended  to  preach  on  the 
next  Sabbath.  He  suggested  my  weakness 
I  told  him  that  God  would  give  me  strength. 
After  an  impressive  prayer,  Mr.  Anderson 
left  me,  engaging  to  be  present,  and  assist  me 
in  the  services  of  the  sanctuary. 

"  During  the  previous  week,  the  intelli 
gence  had  been  extensively  circulated,  that  I 
should,  on  that  day,  resume  my  ministerial 
duties,  and  the  gathering  was  unusually  large. 
No  tongue  can  describe  the  intensity  of  rny 
feelings,  when  the  first  stroke  of  the  village 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  165 

loell  came  upon  my  ear.  I  was  fearful  that 
my  friend  would  disappoint  me,  and,  though 
extremely  feeble  in  the  flesh,  yet,  as  it  was  a 
delightful  morning,  —  it  was  the  last  Sabbath 
in  June,  —  I  set  forward  slowly,  and  on  foot. 
I  had  not  gone  far,  when  I  saw  Mr.  Ander 
son,  with  his  horse  and  chaise,  advancing 
towards  me.  We  rode  to  the  church  together. 
There  was  an  unusual  collection  about  the 
door.  The  first  person  who  greeted  me,  and 
in  the  most  cordial  manner,  after  we  alighted, 
was  old  Gabriel  Kelly ;  —  it  was  he  whom 
Mr.  Anderson  had  offended,  by  refusing  his 
toddy.  I  overheard  him  saying  to  a  neighbor, 
as  we  were  entering  the  church,  'Well,  we 
shan't  hear  about  no  brimstone  to-day.' 

"  The  preparatory  services  were  conducted 
in  an  admirable  manner  by  my  kind  friend. 
When  I  rose,  the  congregation  was  unusually 
solemn  and  attentive,  possibly  on  account  of 
the  emotion,  which  I  undoubtedly  exhibited, 
for  my  heart  was  full.  I  had  chosen  for  my 
text  a  part  of  the  seventh  verse  of  the 
thirteenth  chapter  of  St.  Luke.  'Behold, 


166  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

these  three  years  1  come  seeking  fruit  on  this 
Jig-tree,  and  find  none :  cut  it  down :  why 
cumbereth  it  the  ground  T  I  applied  this 
passage  to  myself,  and  my  unfaithful  minis 
tration,  and  begged  the  Lord,  in  the  language 
of  the  dresser  of  the  vineyard,  to  let  it  alone 
this  year  also.  I  plainly  told  my  people, 
that,  as  I  should  not  spare  their  sins,  I  would 
not  spare  my  own.  I  set  before  them  a 
strong  picture  of  my  own  unfaithfulness.  I 
told  them,  that  I  had  been  appointed  their 
shepherd,  but  that  I  had  suffered  the  wolf  to 
come  into  the  fold ;  that  I  had  been  set  apart 
to  preach  the  gospel,  which  I  had  not 
preached ;  that  I  had  accepted  the  office 
of  their  spiritual  guide,  to  lead  them  in  the 
way  of  salvation,  instead  of  which  I  had 
walked  with  them  in  the  paths  of  wickedness. 
In  conclusion,  with  tears  in  my  eyes,  I  most 
penitently  begged  the  forgiveness  of  Heaven, 
and  of  my  parishioners.  The  concluding 
prayer  by  Mr.  Anderson  was  admirable  ;  and, 
even  among  my  misguided  people,  there  were 
melted  hearts  and  moistened  eyes,  when  he 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  167 

concluded,  in  the  words  of  holy  writ,  i  and 
if  it  bear  fruit,  —  well;  and  if  not,  then, 
after  that,  thou  shalt  cut  it  down.'' '' 

"  Ah,  mynheer,"  said  the  Dutchman,  who 
had  seized  hold  of  the  clergyman's  hands, 
while  the  tears  ran  freely  down  his  own 
cheeks,  — "  ah,  mynheer,  how  much  petter 
you  feelt  after  you  had  made  de  clean  preast, 
in  dat  vay!"  —  "Indeed,"  continued  the 
narrator,  "  I  derived  a  measure  of  strength 
and  exhilaration  from  the  performance  of  my 
duty  on  that  occasion,  which  it  falls  not  to 
the  lot  of  any  dram-drinker  to  enjoy  or 
comprehend.  My  friend  Anderson  endeav 
ored  to  dissuade  me  from  preaching  again 
upon  that  day ;  but  I  persisted,  assuring  him, 
that  I  felt  stronger,  than  when  I  entered  my 
pulpit  in  the  morning.  I  preached,  in  the 
afternoon,  from  a  part  of  the  thirty-fourth 
verse  of  the  twenty-first  chapter  of  St.  Luke : 
f  Take  heed  to  yourselves,  lest,  at  any  time, 
your  hearts  be  overcharged  with  surfeiting 
and  drunkenness'  I  had  read  my  text,  and 
was  in  the  act  of  repeating  it,  as  usual,  when 


ll>3  THE    STAGE-COACH, 

old  Gabriel  Kelly  rose  up,  in  evident  jndig- 
nation,  and  walked  out  of  the  meeting-house. 
This  was  a  fortunate  occurrence.  Had  the 
example  been  set  by  any  one  of  my  less 
culpable  parishioners,  it  might  have  been 
followed  by  others ;  but  the  pioneer,  in  the 
present  instance,  was  an  incomparable  drunk 
ard,  and  no  one  appeared  willing  to  follow 
such  a  notable  file-leader  as  Gabriel  Kelly. 
My  sermon  was  simple  in  its  arrangement, 
practical,  and  direct.  I  expressed  my  opinion 
very  plainly,  that  our  village  was  remarkable 
for  intemperance  ;  that,  when  I  first  assumed 
my  pastoral  duties,  I  was  a  temperate  man ; 
that  my  desire  of  pleasing  man  was  then 
paramount  to  my  desire  of  pleasing  God ; 
that  a  non-conformist  was  not  more  offensive 
to  the  professors  of  an  established  religion,  in 
certain  countries,  than  a  water-drinker,  in  the 
midst  of  an  intemperate  population ;  that  a 
clergyman,  who  would  not  imitate  the  dram- 
drinking  habits  of  his  people,  inflicted  a 
negative  insult  upon  some  one  of  them,  as 
often  as  he  refused  the  proffered  cup;  that 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  169 

my  desire  of  popularity  had  induced  me  to 
be  sociable  with  my  parishioners,  which  I 
readily  perceived  was  an  impracticable  mat 
ter,  without  the  assistance  of  strong  drink ; 
that  I  had,  according  to  my  conscientious 
construction  of  past  conduct,  sinfully  yielded 
to  the  temptation,  until  a  craving  for  that 
beverage,  which,  in  the  outset,  was  by  no 
means  agreeable,  had  brought  me  to  the 
condition  of  a  tippler.  I  quoted  the  remark 
of  a  French  writer,  who  has  observed,  that, 
in  the  misfortunes  of  our  very  best  friends, 
there  is  commonly  something  not  altogether 
disagreeable  to  our  feelings ;  and  that  even 
the  funeral  of  a  parishioner  had  not  been 
without  its  fascinations  for  us  all,  —  for  the 
bottle,  on  such  occasions,  was  always  full, 
however  empty  and  impotent  the  prayer. 
I  recited  before  them  the  vow  which  I  had 
made  upon  my  sick-bed,  and,  as  I  had 
feared,  upon  my  dying  pillow,  while  I  had 
been  suffering  from  the  effects  of  those  evil 
habits,  which  I  had  contracted  during  my 
unworthy  ministration.  That  vow  I  renewed 
15 


170  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

in  the  most  solemn  manner,  before  them  all. 

—  The  congregation  were  grave  and  atten 
tive,  beyond  my  most  sanguine  expectations. 
Nothing  occurred,  after  the  departure  of  old 
Kelly,  to  mar  the  solemnity  of  the  services, 
with  a  single  exception.     While  I  was  press 
ing  earnestly,  upon  the  consideration  of  my 
hearers,  the  uncertainty  of  life,  the  certainty, 
and  the  possible   suddenness,  of  death,  and 
the    horrible    idea    of    being    summoned  — 
drunk  —  before  the  bar  of  an  indignant  God, 

—  old  Mrs.  Troutbeck,  the  butcher's  widow, 
fainted  away  in  her  pew,  to  the  great  con 
sternation  of  the  assembly,  by  some  of  whom 
it  was  probably  accounted  an  awful  illustra 
tion,  as  the  old  lady's  habits  were  notoriously 
bad.      She  was  removed  into  the  open  air, 
and  speedily  recovered. 

"As  I  walked  down  the  aisle,  after  the 
service,  though  few  of  my  male  parishioners 
remained  to  greet  me,  I  was  received  by 
several  of  the  females,  with  unusual  cordiali 
ty  ;  and  some  of  them,  as  they  shook  hands 
with  me,  could  not  refrain  from  shedding 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  171 

tears.  As  I  passed  through  the  porch,  and 
bowed  kindly,  but  solemnly,  to  such  of  my 
people  as  still  lingered  there,  they  returned 
my  salutation  with  unwonted  respectfulness 
of  manner,  some  of  them  even  touching  their 
hats,  —  a  thing  almost  without  precedent  in 
the  parish  of  Micklefield. 

"There  was  a  man  in  my  society,  who, 
from  my  first  arrival  in  Micklefield,  had 
treated  me  with  marked  neglect.  His  name 
was  Kirk  Bradish.  He  was  a  farmer,  and 
supposed  to  be  the  wealthiest  man  in  the 
village.  From  this  man,  and  his  wife, 
Elspeth,  I  had  never  received  the  slightest 
token  of  friendship.  I  had  been  forewarned, 
by  one  of  those  volunteers,  who  may  be 
found  amongst  every  people,  ready  to  furnish 
all  descriptions  of  small  knowledge  to  the 
new  minister,  that  Kirk  and  his  wife  were 
unsocial  people,  and  never  treated.  I  called 
upon  them,  once  or  twice,  as  a  matter  of 
duty,  —  was  civilly  but  coldly  received, — 
and  there  our  intercouse  seemed  likely  to 
terminate.  They  lost  their  only  child,  about 


172  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

two  years  after  my  ordination,  and  removed 
the  body  full  twenty  miles,  to  the  town  in 
which  Mrs.  Bradish  was  born,  and  there  it 
was  buried.  I  was  highly  offended,  when  I 
heard  that  Kirk  Bradish  had  assigned,  as  a 
reason  for  this  conduct,  that  he  intended  his 
child  should  have  Christian  burial,  and  that 
there  was  no  such  thing  to  be  had  in  Mickle- 
field.  I  disbelieved  the  story  at  first,  but 
it  was  soon  confirmed  by  several  of  those 
witnesses,  who  are  ever  the  swift  messengers 
of  ungrateful  tidings.  •  Our  greetings  were 
accordingly  cold  and  uncompromising,  and  I 
set  him  down  as  the  greatest  enemy  I  had  in 
Micklefield. — When  I  was  leaving  the 
meeting-house  steps,  after  the  services  of  the 
afternoon,  leaning,  for  support,  upon  the  arm 
of  my  friend  Anderson,  I  was  agreeably 
surprised,  by  a  cordial  greeting  from  Kirk 
Bradish  and  his  wife.  The  old  lady  took  me 
by  the  hand,  and  exclaimed,  c  God  bless  you, 
Mr.  Meredith,  and  give  you  strength  and 
length  of  days  to  do  his  holy  will ! '  I  was 
much  affected  by  the  earnestness  of  her 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  173 

manner,  and  thanked  her  for  her  kind  wishes. 
c  You  are  feeble,  —  you  will  go  home  in  my 
chaise,  Mr.  Meredith  ? '  said  her  hushand ; 
'  here,  —  let  me  help  you  in.'  Kirk's  theory 
and  practice  of  friendship  were  so  closely 
allied,  that  I  had  no  time  for  debate.  In  a 
moment  I  was  riding,  side  by  side,  with 
the  greatest  enemy  I  had  in  Mlcklefield ! 
Mr.  Anderson  followed,  on  foot.  We  rode 
on  in  silence,  till  we  had  nearly  reached  my 
lodgings.  'Mr.  Meredith/  said  he,  as  we 
were  drawing  up  before  the  door,  c  you  have 
a  hard  task  before  you,  but  I  was  sure,  when 
i  heard  you  this  morning,  that  you  bad  an 
unearthly  support,  and  that  the  grace  of  God 
had  been  shed  abroad  in  your  heart.'  —  My 
feelings  were  too  strong  for  utterance.  I  had 
supposed,  that,  in  the  performance  of  my 
vow,  I  should  be  compelled  to  enter  the  field 
against  every  member  of  my  parish  ;  —  that 
I  should  commence  my  arduous  work  of 
reformation  without  one  earthly  friend.  It 
was  otherwise.  God  had  already  raised  up 
on  his  side,  the  most  powerful  of  my  parish- 


174  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

ioners ;  for,  if  wealth  is  a  powerful  instru 
ment,  in  the  hands  even  of  bad  men,  it  may 
be  made  still  more  so  with  those,  who  are 
willing  to  exert  the  influence  it  affords  to  its 
proprietor,  on  the  side  of  virtue  and  religion. 
I  made  no  reply,  but  shook  the  honest  farmer 
by  the  hand,  which  he  returned  with  a 
cordial  grasp,  that,  from  such  a  man,  was 
equivalent  to  a  covenant,  under  seal,  acknowl 
edged,  and  recorded. 

"  I  passed  an  hour  with  my  friend  Ander 
son,  who  congratulated  me  on  this  auspicious 
beginning.  When  my  good  landlady  return 
ed,  who  had  dropped  in  upon  a  few  of  her 
neighbors,  after  meeting,  she  informed  us,  that 
there  was  a  great  excitement  in  the  parish. 
The  morning  discourse  might  have  passed  off 
quietly  enough,  as  she  supposed  ;  but  the  ser 
mon  of  the  afternoon  had  set  the  congregation 
m  a  blaze.  Several  of  the  females,  she  re 
marked,  were  decidedly  in  my  favor,  and 
wished  their  husbands  could  be  persuaded  to 
leave  off  spirit,  but  the  men  were  excessively 
angry.  She  had  gathered  the  information, 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  175 

that  a  town-meeting  would  soon  be  called  in 
consequence  of  my  conduct. 

"  Before  breakfast,  on  the  following  morn 
ing,  I  received  a  visit  from  Deacon  Anthony, 
who  desired  to  see  me  in  private.  He 
endeavored  to  be  civil,  but  was  evidently 
offended  by  the  course  I  had  pursued. — 
'  Well,  Mr.  Meredith,'  said  he,  c  it's  just  as  I 
told  you  ;  you've  thrown  the  whole  parish  into 
an  uproar.  I  thought  you  understood  our 
people  better.  Do  you  think  your  whole 
congregation  are  going  to  give  up  spirit,  be 
cause  it  don't  agree  with  you?'  — ' Certainly 
not,  Deacon  Anthony,'  said  I ;  '  I  truly  wish 
they  would  give  it  up,  not  to  please  me,  but 
to  please  their  Maker,  who  has  warned  them 
against  drunkenness ;  and  to  benefit  them 
selves,  and  their  families.'  — l  Pshaw  1  Mr. 
Meredith,  you're  getting  to  be  notional.'  — 
6  I  do  not  think  so,  deacon,'  I  replied ;  c  you 
once  told  me,  that,  for  many  years,  the  aver 
age  of  common  drunkards  in  Micklefield  was 
about  seventy  or  eighty.  This  number,  I 
understand  you,  remains  unimpaired.  The 


176  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

drunkards  themselves  stagger  into  their  graves, 
but,  to  maintain  the  average,  their  places 
must  be  supplied.  Now,  since  you  appear 
to  be  perfectly  contented  with  this  condition 
of  things,  permit  me  to  ask  you  who,  among 
our  people,  are  to  supply  their  places.  —  'I'm 
sure  I  can't  tell,'  said  the  deacon ;  c  perhaps 
you  think,  that  I,  myself,  may  become  a 
drunkard,  Mr.  Meredith.' — cNo,  sir,'  I  replied, 
c  I  think  you  may  possibly  escape  ;  you  com 
menced  the  use  of  spirit,  as  you  have  told  me, 
after  your  constitution  was  pretty  well  con 
firmed.  When  I  was  last  at  your  house,  you 
had  your  son  Amos  upon  your  knee.  I 
think  he  is  not  yet  six  years  old.  You  held 
a  glass  in  your  hand ;  you  had  drunken  the 
liquor,  and  were  giving  your  child,  with  a 
spoon,  the  rummy  sugar  at  the  bottom.  I 
never  shall  forget  his  eagerness,  as  he  ran 
towards  you,  when  you  were  mixing  your 
dram,  indicating  how  well  he  understood  the 
process,  and  how  much  of  a  little  slave  he 
had  already  become  to  his  appetite  for  rum  and 
sugar.  I  recollect  that,  after  he  had  received 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  177 

the  whole  reliquium,  he  cried  for  more;  and 
that,  when  you  gently  reprimanded  him,  he 
exclaimed  in  a  passion,  "  I  don't  care ;  when 
I  grow  up,  I'll  have  as  much  rum  and  sugar 
as  I  want."  —  Now,  Deacon  Anthony,  I  ask 
you,  affectionately,  but  most  solemnly,  would 
it  be  contrary  to  the  common  course  of  things, 
if  little  Amos  should,  at  some  future  day,  be 
one  of  the  common  drunkards  of  Mickle- 
fielcl?' — The  deacon's  countenance  was  im 
mediately  convulsed  with  conflicting  emotions. 
He  was  angry,  but  he  was  shocked  and 
violently  agitated,  by  the  picture  I  had 
drawn.  —  'Mr.  Meredith,'  said  he,  <  don't 
you  trouble  yourself  about  Amos.  But  let's 
cut  this  matter  short ;  you're  settled  here  for 
life  ;  there's  no  agreement  about  salary,  only 
that  we're  to  give  you  a  reasonable  support 
according  to  our  ability.  Now  we  seem  to 
be  getting  poorer  every  year.  This  year,  in 
particular,  every  thing  has  gone  behindhand. 
We  had  a  horrid  freshet  in  the  spring,  and 
it'll  cost  the  town  a  sight  o'  money  for  the 
upper  and  lower  bridges ;  both  were  carried 


178  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

away,  you  remember.  Then  crops  have  been 
short;  besides — '  c  Stop,  deacon/  said  I, 
'save  yourself  this  trouble,  and  tell  me 
frankly  your  wishes.' — c  Why,  to  be  plain, 
Mr.  Meredith,  we  don't  doubt  a  man  of  your 
talents  can  find  a  settlement,  that  will  suit 
him  better,  and  if  you  had  as  lieve  as  not,  I 
think  the  people  would  be  willing  to  pay  up 
what  they  owe  you,  and  make  you  some  sort 
of  a  present,  and  put  an  end  to  the  contract.' 
— ( I  perfectly  understand  you,  Deacon  An 
thony,'  said  I,  'and  I  now  tell  you,  after 
grave  and  prayerful  consideration,  that  I  will 
not  leave  Micklefield,  until  I  shall  have 
atoned  for  my  errors.  You  speak  of  the 
amount  they  owe  me ;  they  owe  me  nothing. 
I  have  already  eaten  enough  of  the  bread  of 
unfaithfulness.  What  they  please  to  give,  I 
will  receive.  If  nothing,  I  am  ready  to 
starve,  if  it  be  God's  will,  and  to  wear  that 
sackcloth,  which  I  have  so  well  deserved.'  — 
'  Well,  Mr.  Meredith,'  said  he  as  he  rose  to 
go,  '  then  they'll  call  a  town-meeting,  and 
settle  it  their  own  way.'  — c  I  shall  pray  God 


I 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  179 

to  give  them  wisdom  in  all  their  deliberations,' 
said  I. 

"  Deacon  Anthony's  predictions,  touching 
the  affairs  of  Micklefield,  were  about  as 
likely  to  be  verified,  as  those  of  the  master  of 
a  puppet-show,  respecting  the  movements  of 
his  little  operatives.  In  the  early  part  of  the 
following  week  the  notices  were  abroad  ;  and, 
after  certain  unimportant  matters,  the  main 
object  was  set  forth,  in  the  usual  phraseology 
of  the  warrant,  —  to  see  what  measures  the 
town  will  take  to  fix  the  minister's  salary ; 
the  design  of  which  was  in  fact  to  fix  the 
minister,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  adopt  the 
expression,  employed  by  the  lady  in  her  nar 
rative  of  Parson  Pottle.  The  day  arrived. 
It  was  then  very  common  for  clergymen  to 
attend  these  assemblies  and  take  a  busy  part 
in  town  affairs.  Upon  this  occasion,  I  was 
absent  of  course.  The  son  of  my  landlady 
gave  us  a  full  account  in  the  evening.  He 
stated,  that  the  parish  was  very  much  excited 
by  my  late  course ;  and  that  the  affairs  of  the 
meeting  had  been  conducted  in  a  bitter  spirit. 


ISO  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

One  person  moved,  that  a  committee  be  ap 
pointed  to  invite  the  minister  to  resign. 
Deacon  Anthony  assured  the  meeting,  that 
he  had  sounded  Mr.  Meredith,  and  that  such 
a  course  would  consume  time  and  produce  no 
possible  good.  Squire  Higgle,  the  attorney, 
in  answer  to  a  question  from  one  of  the 
distillers,  gave  his  opinion,  that  no  legal 
ground  existed  for  terminating  the  contract. 
It  was  then  moved  by  one  of  the  distillers, 
and  seconded  by  an  inn-holder,  that,  consider 
ing  the  poverty  of  the  town,  it  could  not 
afford,  during  the  present  year,  to  pay  more 
for  the  support  of  a  minister,  than  one  dollar 
per  Sabbath,  or  fifty-two  dollars  per  year. 
This  motion  was  opposed  with  great  zeal,  by 
one  person  only,  who  had  never  spoken  in 
town-meeting  before.  He  inquired  after  the 
real  object  of  this  meeting ;  and  boldly  put 
the  question  to  the  distillers,  and  inn-holders, 
and  dealers  in  liquor,  if  their  real  object  were 
not  to  rid  the  town  of  a  man,  who  was  likely 
to  interfere  with  their  traffic.  —  The  speaker 
was  called  to  order,  and  Deacon  Anthony 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  181 

the  moderator,  informed  him,  that  it  was  not 
in  order  to  call  on  members  of  the  meeting 
in  that  manner;  and  that  all  his  questions 
must  be  put  to  the  moderator.  '  Well,  then, 
Mr.  Moderator,'  continued  the  speaker,  ( I 
put  the  question  to  you ;  Can  you  lay  your 
hand  upon  your  heart,  and  honestly  say,  that 
you  are  not  desirous  of  driving  your  minister 
out  of  town,  because  he  is  likely  to  lessen  the 
rum  profits  of  your  shop  ? '  —  The  directness 
and  unexpectedness  of  this  appeal,  while  it 
deprived  the  deacon  of  the  power  of  utter 
ance,  had  an  obvious  effect  upon  the  assem 
bly,  which  effect  was  increased,  by  the  reso 
lute,  uncompromising  manner  of  the  speaker. 
—  Under  a  specious  misnomer,  how  easily 
we  become  familiar  with  the  perpetration  of 
sin  and  folly  !  The  dissipated  and  the  drunk 
en  only  drown  care. — The  miser  obeys  the 
injunction  of  holy  writ,  and  provides  for  his 
own  household.  —  The  well-trained  members 
of  a  political  party  may  be  too  thoroughly 
accustomed  to  the  exposition  of  their  corrupt 
motives,  to  be  diverted  from  their  course ;  but 


182  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

it  was  not  precisely  thus  in  the  town-meeting 
of  Micklefield;  and,  while  the  speaker  con 
tinued  to  expose  the  injustice  of  a  measure, 
designed  to  crush  a  clergyman,  because  he 
had  resolved  to  do  his  duty,  more  than  one, 
either  from  principle  or  shame,  seceded  in 
his  heart  from  the  main  body.  When  the 
vote  was  taken,  the  motion  was  lost  by  a  very 
small  majority.  It  was,  however,  voted  to  fix 
the  salary  at  one  hundred  and  four  dollars,  for 
the  current  year.  For  several  years,  I  had 
annually  received  about  two  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars  ;  and,  until  the  present  occasion,  as  I 
have  stated,  the  salary  had  not  been  limited 
to  any  particular  sum.  Notice  of  the  new 
arrangement  was  sent  me  by  the  town-clerk. 
Deacon  Anthony  was  probably  ashamed  to 
be  the  bearer  of  this  intelligence  himself. 
The  final  motion  was  also  opposed  with  great 
earnestness  by  the  speaker,  who  had  opposed 
the  first.  This  speaker  was  Kirk  Bradish, 
the  man,  whom  I  had  once  accounted  the 
greatest  enemy  1  had  in  Micklefield. 

"  On  the  next  Sabbath  morning,  the  meet- 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  183 

ing-house  was  unusually  full;  many  being 
desirous,  without  doubt,  of  witnessing  the  ef 
fect,  which  the  late  vote  had  produced  upon 
the  minister.  I  preached  from  2  Corinthians, 
ix.  6,  7  —  He  that  soweth  little  shall  reap 
little,  and  he  that  soweth  plenteously  shall 
reap  plenteously.  Let  every  man  do  accord 
ing  as  he  is  disposed  in  his  heart,  not  grudg 
ingly  or  of  necessity,  for  God  loveth  a  cheer 
ful  giver.  My  text  had  possibly  led  not  a 
few  of  my  parishioners  to  expect  a  sermon, 
full  of  complaint,  on  account  of  my  strait 
ened  condition.  But  I  really  felt,  that  I  de 
served  nothing  at  their  hands ;  and  I  told  them 
so,  in  the  heartfelt  language  of  simplicity  and 
truth.  I  thanked  them  for  the  allowance  they 
had  voted  me,  and  stated  my  desire  to  live 
even  upon  a  smaller  sum,  if  my  present  salary 
should  be  found  burdensome  to  the  parish. 
I  compared  the  luxurious  lives  of  many  mod 
ern  clergymen  with  the  necessities  and  distresses, 
the  watchings  and  fastings,  the  stripes  and 
imprisonments  of  the  primitive  apostles.  I 
told  them,  that  I  desired  nothing  so  ardently 


184  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

as  the  salvation  of  their  souls,  and  tnat  the/ 
should,  one  and  all,  decide  as  I  had  done, 
between  God  and  Mammon.  Many  of  my 
hearers  were  deeply  affected.  Those,  who, 
when  I  commenced,  had  planted  themselves 
in  their  seats,  with  an  expression  of  dissatis 
faction  and  even  defiance,  and  who  had  an 
ticipated  a  sermon  full  of  censure  and  crimi 
nation,  hung  their  heads  for  shame  and  dis 
appointment.  When  I  passed  down  the  steps, 
the  touching  of  hats  became  so  contagious, 
that  I  began  to  hope  for  a  reformation  in  the 
manners  of  Micklefield.  There  was  an  old 
sailor  in  our  parish,  long  retired  from  the  sea, 
who  was  a  moderate  drinker.  This  man, 
Captain  Plunket,  had  an  only  son,  who  was 
exceedingly  dear  to  him,  but  was  becoming  a 
fearful  drunkard  ;  and  it  was  thought  he  would 
one  day  break  the  old  man's  heart.  As  I 
came  out  of  the  meeting-house,  Captain  Plun 
ket  caught  me  by  the  hand,  with  a  convulsive 
grasp. — c  God  bless  ye,  Mr.  Meredith,'  said 
he.  —  His  lip  quivered,  and  the  tears  came 
into  his  eye.  — c  You  don't  know  what  you've 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  185 

done  for  me.'  — c  And  pray  what  is  it,  sir  ? 9 
I  inquired.  — c  What  is  it ! '  said  he ;  '  why,  my 
son  John,  that  was  head  on  the  rock,  has 
come  right  about.  That  shot  you  fired  last 
Sunday  afternoon,  took  him  right  betwixt 
wind  and  water,  and  he's  been  plugging  up 
ever  since.  Why,  sir,  he  says  he'll  never 
touch  another  drop,  while  he  lives.  He's 
coaxing  me  to  leave  off  too.'  — c  Take  his 
advice,  rny  old  friend,'  said  I,  pressing  his 
hand.  — £  Would  ye  ? '  said  he.  — c  Indeed,  I 
would,'  I  replied.  —  <  Well,  I'll  think  on't,' 
said  the  old  man,  c  I  will,  really.' —  I  was 
not  prepared  so  speedily  to  witness  the  fruit 
of  my  labors,  and  I  failed  not  to  bless  God, 
for  the  increase. 

"  Previously  to  my  conversion,  —  for  such  I 
may  justly  call  it,  I  was  in  debt,  —  though  not 
to  a  large  amount.  I  was  particularly  anxious 
to  be  absolved  from  this  obligation.  My 
chief  creditor  was  one  of  the  malecontents  of 
my  parish,  and  had  already  begun  to  press 
me  for  the  amount  of  his  demand.  My  land 
lady  had  offered  to  loan  me  the  amount,  but  I 
16 


186  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

was  at  that  time  negotiating  with  her  for  hum 
bler  accommodations,  and  lower  board,  and 
thought  proper  to  refuse  her  offer.  1  had  no 
other  convertible  property  than  my  library, 
which  I  had  taken  much  pains  to  collect.  It 
comprised  about  four  hundred  volumes.  Of 
these,  I  had  catalogued  about  three  hundred, 
which  I  thought  I  could  most  easily  relin 
quish  ;  and,  having  annexed  the  lowest  prices', 
informed  my  landlady,  that  I  intended  to  sell 
them  separately  or  together.  A  few  days 
after,  she  came  to  inform  me,  that  she  had 
found  a  person,  who,  she  thought,  would  like 
to  be  a  purchaser,  and,  if  I  pleased,  would 
show  him  up.  I  begged  her  to  do  so  ;  and, 
in  a  short  time,  Kirk  Bradish  entered  my 
apartment.  —  cl'm  not  much  of  a  reading 
character,  Mr.  Meredith,'  said  he,  c  but  its 
a  pity  such  a  fine  library  should  go  out  of  the 
parish,  and  my  good  woman's  of  a  mind  that 
I  better  buy  it.'  —  I  showed  him  the  cata 
logue,  and  the  reduced  prices.  — e  Well,'  said 
he,  c  please  to  make  a  bill  of  sale,  and  I'll 
pay  you  for  it.'  —  He  counted  out  the  money, 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  187 

and  put  the  bill  of  sale  in  his  pocket-book. 
'When  will  you  send  for  the  books,  Mr. 
Bradish  ?'  said  I.  —  CI  can't  rightly  say/  he 
replied,  '  but  I'll  let  you  know  the  day  before, 
if  that  will  answer.'  — '  Perfectly  well/  said  I. 
—  A  month  after  the  transfer,  I  reminded 
him,  that  he  had  not  sent  for  his  books,  and 
have  done  so  repeatedly  since,  but  he  always 
replies,  c  I'm  to  let  you  know  a  day  before, 
and  you  said  that  would  answer.' 

"  My  efforts,  to  obtain  more  humble  ac 
commodations  of  my  landlady,  were  in  vain. 
She  put  me  off  with  various  excuses,  and  thus 
compelled  me  to  retain  the  best  apartment  in 
her  house.  A  few  days  before  my  quarter 
bill  became  due,  I  told  her,  that  the  necessity 
of  adapting  my  expenses  to  my  limited  means 
would  compel  me  to  leave  her  house,  unless 
she  would  permit  me  to  occupy  an  upper 
chamber.  The  old  lady  smiled,  and  bade 
me  not  take  so  much  thought  for  the  morrow. 
I  had  reserved  enough  to  pay  for  my  board  ; 
and,  when  quarter  day  arrived,  I  put  down 
the  money,  and,  as  usual,  requested  a  receipt. 


188  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

'  You  will  find  it/  said  she,  c  on  your  table  ;  it 
has  been  already  paid.'  —  I  was  unable  to 
get  any  explanation  from  her  ;  and,  when  I 
expressed  my  conviction,  that  it  was  the  work 
of  Kirk  Bradish,  she  simply  placed  her  finger 
on  her  lips.  When  I  taxed  him  with  this  act 
of  beneficence,  however,  he  denied  all  agency, 
in  such  a  manner,  as  left  me  no  doubt  of  his 
sincerity.  In  this  way,  my  board  continued 
to  be  paid  by  some  unknown  benefactor,  for 
six  years.  I  have  never  been  able  to  unravel 
the  mystery,  in  any  other  way,  than  by  the 
correspondence  of  events.  —  It  was  never 
paid  in  this  manner,  after  I  committed  the 
remains  of  old  Captain  Plunket  to  the  grave. 
—  The  town-meeting  produced  a  very  differ 
ent  result  from  that,  which  its  projectors  de 
signed.  It  increased  the  number  of  my 
friends,  and  taught  me,  that,  even  with  a  ref 
erence  to  the  comforts  of  the  present  world, 
it  is  easier  to  serve  the  Lord,  than  Baal,  if 
we  seek  first  the  kingdom  of  God  and  his 
righteousness. 

"  Although  we  had  not  then  such  means, 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  189 

as  are  derived  from  the  principle  of  associa 
tion,  yet  the  village  of  Micklefield  presented 
no  contemptible  example  of  local  reform. 
Clergymen  are  eminently  the  fuglars  or  ex 
emplars  of  their  parishioners,  and  accordingly 
they  lie  under  a  fearful  responsibility.  I  con 
tinued,  by  example  and  by  precept,  to  oper 
ate  upon  the  feelings  and  upon  the  reason 
of  my  flock  ;  and  my  success  was  vastly  be 
yond  my  most  sanguine  anticipations.  Though 
temperance  societies  and  temperance  pledges 
were,  at  that  time,  unknown,  the  mischievous 
effects  and  the  utter  inutility  of  every  intox 
icating  liquor  as  a  beverage,  were  well  under 
stood,  by  those,  who  considered  the  subject 
with  attention.  Sensuality  and  selfishness 
inculcated  a  different  and  a  more  popular 
doctrine.  It  was  almost  futile  to  war  against 
a  people,  whose  very  habits  so  obviously 
tended  to  elevate  the  creature,  and  depress  the 
Creator,  —  with  such  weapons  alone,  as  the 
spiritual  armory  affords.  At  first,  and  before 
the  pervading  spirit  of  temperance  itself  had 
prepared  the  way,  for  the  higher  and  holier 


190  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

influence  of  the  gospel,  the  success  of  my 
efforts  seemed  mainly  to  depend  upon  a  cor 
rect  demonstration  of  such  temporal  evil,  as 
springs  manifestly  from  intemperance.  Loss 
of  money,  and  land,  and  comfort,  and  respec 
tability,  and  health,  and  domestic  happiness, 
and  friends,  and  reason,  and  life  itself,  —  such 
considerations  were  simple  and  intelligible, 
and  readily  traced  to  intemperance  as  their 
source.  I  found  it  of  much  advantage,  even 
in  iny  sermons,  to  introduce  the  opinions  of 
those  medical  writers,  who  delivered  their 
sentiments  long  before  the  first  conception  of 
such  a  thing  as  a  Temperance  Society  ;  and 
upon  whose  pages  may  be  found  the  great 
leading  features  of  total  abstinence.  I  often 
said  to  my  people,  'Many  imagine  hard  labor 
cannot  be  supported  without  drinking  strong 
liquors.  This  is  a  very  erroneous  notion* 
Men,  who  never  taste  strong  liquors,  are  not 
only  able  to  endure  more  fatigue,  but  also 
live  much  longer  than  those,  who  use  them 
daily.'  * 

*  Buchan,  p.  85,  Coffin's  Ed. 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  191 

"  Long  before  the  great  temperance  reform 
ation  arose  in  our  land,  Micklefield  enjoyed  a 
reformation  of  its  own.  So  manifest  were  its 
advantages,  that,  although,  for  the  two  first 
years,  my  parishioners  inflicted  the  petty 
municipal  indignity  upon  their  pastor  of  elect 
ing  him  hogreeve  of  the  village,  the  attempt 
to  repeat  it,  for  the  third  time,  was  resisted  by 
a  large  majority,  who  were  already  sensible 
of  their  increasing  happiness.  In  the  course 
of  seven  years,  the  fires  of  three  distilleries 
were  extinguished.  At  the  present  day,  no 
license  is  granted  in  this  village ;  and  it  would 
be  no  easy  matter  to  find  a  town,  in  the  same 
commonwealth,  more  remarkable  for  its  indus 
try  and  sobriety  than  the  village  of  Mickle 
field.  My  good  old  friend,  Deacon  Anthony, 
who  is  yet  living,  at  a  very  advanced  age, 
has  thanked  me  a  hundred  times  for  my 
resolution,  in  remaining  with  my  parishioners. 
Years  have  gone  by,  since  he  abandoned  his 
cheerless  occupation,  and  became,  in  fact, 
that,  which  he  had  long  been,  only  by  pro 
fession,  a  sincere  Christian  deacon.  A  short 


THE    STAGE-COACH. 


account  of  his  conversion  shall  close  my 
narrative  of  the  parish  of  Micklefield. — 
About  four  years  after  my  severe  illness,  I 
received  a  message  from  old  Gabriel  Kelly, 
requesting  me  to  visit  him,  as  he  was  thought 
to  be  dying.  I  made  my  way  with  all  possi 
ble  expedition  to  his  miserable  dwelling.  1 
reached  the  door  almost  at  the  same  time 
with  Deacon  Anthony,  who  appeared  some 
what  embarrassed  by  the  meeting. —  'Kelly 
is  dying,'  said  I.  —  <O,  no/  said  he,  'he'll 
live  a  good  many  years  yet,  I  guess.  I've 
come  here  on  a  little  business,  and,  if  you're 
going  in,  I  may  as  well  stop  on  my  return.' 
— '  There  must  be  some  mistake  in  this 
matter,  Deacon  Anthony,'  said  I ;  '  if  Kelly 
is  not  dying,  there  is  no  reason  why  I  should 
remain,  and  I  will  immediately  return.'  — 
1  Pshaw,  Mr.  Meredith,  he's  no  more  dying 
than  you  are, — he's  only  drunk,'  cried  the 
deacon,  opening  the  door.  —  We  entered 
together.  Gabriel  Kelly  was  stretched  upon 
his  straw-bed.  Dr.  Snuffler  was  sitting  upon 
a  broken  chair.  Gabriel's  wife,  manifestly  in 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  193 

liquor,  endeavored,  upon  our  entrance,  to 
draw  forward  a  chest,  that  we  might  be 
seated.  Their  son,  Gershom,  a  young  man, 
about  nineteen  years  of  age,  was  lying,  appar 
ently  dead  drunk,  upon  the  floor.  The  only 
member  of  this  wretched  family,  who  seemed 
to  be  capable  of  self-government,  was  a 
daughter,  about  fifteen  years  old.  She  had 
the  reputation  of  being  perfectly  correct  in 
her  habits ;  and,  though  misery  appeared  to 
be  written  in  broad,  deep  lines,  upon  her 
features,  their  expression  was  amiable,  and, 
under  other  circumstances,  she  would  have 
been  accounted  pretty.  — '  How  is  he,  doc 
tor?'  said  I.  — '  He  can't  live  through  the 
day,'  replied  the  doctor;  'they've  been 
giving  the  old  man  rum,  though  I  forbid  it, 
and  it  will  carry  him  off  a  little  sooner.'  — 
6  He  didn't  drink  but  two  —  two  qua  — 
quarts,'  said  the  woman.  —  'Two  quarts!' 
cried  the  doctor.  —  'No,'  she  replied,  cwe 
got  about  two  qua  —  quarts.'  —  'Well,' said 
the  doctor,  chow  much  did  he  drink?'  — (  He 
17 


194  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

—  he  drinkt  all  that  wasn't  left  in  the  —  the 

—  that's  what  he  drinkt.' 

" '  Gabriel/  said  the  doctor,  putting  his 
hand  on  the  dying  man's  shoulder,  'Mr. 
Meredith  has  come  to  see  you,  with  Deacon 
Anthony.'  —  He  opened  his  eyes,  and  called 
for  cold  water.  The  doctor  said  he  might 
take  just  what  he  pleased.  He  drank  a  little, 
and  in  a  feeble  voice  addressed  the  deacon 
nearly  as  follows  :  —  cSo  you've  come  to  see 
the  old  drunkard  die  ? '  — '  No,  Gabriel,'  said 
the  deacon;  'I  came  because  you  sent  for 
me.'  —  <I  didn't,'  said  he.  — 'Your  son 
Gershom,'  said  the  deacon,  'came  to  my 
shop  this  morning,  and  said  if  I  would  let 
you  have  two  quarts  of  rum,  and  come  down 
myself  this  forenoon,  you'd  settle  our  ac 
count,  and  that  you  couldn't  go  out.'  —  'He 
and  the  old  woman  plotted  it,  I  'spose,'  cried 
Gabriel,  'and  they're  drunk,  no  doubt;  — 
settle  the  account,  with  a  vengeance !  What 
an  account  you've  got  to  settle  in  t'other 
world,  deacon !  I'm  a-going  afore  ye,  for  one 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  195 

of  your  vouchers.  Settle  the  account,  to  be 
sure !  Ask  the  minister,  that's  setting  on  the 
chest  with  ye,  what  he  thinks  you'll  look  like, 
when  you're  called  up  for  a  set  —  settlement, 
yourself.'  — '  Kelly,'  said  the  deacon,  c  you're 
light-headed.' — <  Well, — maybe  so,  but  I  a'n't 
light-hearted,  any  how.  —  Settle  the  account! 
You  made  me  a  drunkard,  —  and  the  old 
woman  there,  —  and  Gershom,  —  and  now  I 
want  you  to  make  a  solemn  promise  to  a 
dying  man.'  — c  You're  so  abusive,  Kelly, 
that  you  have  no  right  to  ask  any  thing  of 
me.'  —  'Well,  well,  deacon,  do  promise  a 
dying  man;  it  won't  touch  ye  in  your  sub 
stance, —  so  ye  needn't  be  scared,  deacon. 
Now,  if  you'll  promise,  I'll  tell  ye  something 
for  your  advantage.'  —  *  Well,'  said  the 
deacon,  hoping  to  shift  the  topic,  Til 
promise,  if  the  thing  isn't  unreasonable.'  — 
'  That's  a  good  deacon,'  cried  Gabriel. 
'You  see  Alice  there,  my  daughter;  —  now 
promise  me  you'll  never  make  her  a 
drunkard.'  —  The  old  man  would  not  desist, 
though  he  was  evidently  growing  weaker. 


196  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

until  the  deacon  had  made  him  a  solemn 
promise,  that  he  would  never  furnish  Alice 
Kelly  with  a  drop  of  intoxicating  liquor. 
— f  And  now.  Deacon  Anthony/  said  he, 
c  I  feel  myself  a-going,  and  I  must  be  short , 
but  I'll  keep  my  word,  and  tell  you  some 
thing  for  your  advantage.  It'll  be  for  your 
advantage,  deacon,  to  know  jest  what  folks 
thinks  on  ye,  —  and  I'll  tell  ye.  Last  new 
year's  night,  more  than  twenty  on  us  was 
together  down  to  Kendall's  tavern,  and  we 
was  all  unanimous,  that  Deacon  Anthony 
had  made  more  drunkards  in  Micklefield  than 
any  other  five  rum-sellers  beside.'  —  At  this 
moment,  old  Kelly  was  seized  with  a  fit 
of  coughing,  which  put  an  end  to  the 
deacon's  persecution.  —  I  asked  the  poor  old 
sinner,  if  I  should  pray  for  him ;  he  replied, 
that  it  was  of  no  use,  but  he  thought  it  might 
be  well  for  me  to  pray  for  Deacon  Anthony. 
I  inquired  why  he  had  sent  for  me.  He  said 
he  wished  me  to  be  a  witness  of  the  deacon's 
promise,  that  he  would  not  make  Alice  a 
drunkard.  —  The  doctor  observed  that  his 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  197 

pulse  was  failing.  — c  How  long  can  I  live?' 
said  old  Gabriel.  — '  Not  long/  said  the  doctor. 
— '  I  forgive  ye,  deacon,'  said  he,  '  and  hope 
God  will,  but  I  should  die  something  easier,  I 
think,  if  you  was  out  of  the  house.' — The 
deacon  had  never  undergone  such  a  trial 
before.  He  went  out  in  silence.  The  effect 
of  this  interview  was  greater  than  I  could 
have  expected.  About  a  fortnight  after  old 
Kelly's  death,  which  occurred  on  the  evening 
of  that  day,  Dr.  Snuffler  informed  me,  that 
he  was  in  the  deacon's  shop,  when  a 
customer  called  to  have  his  jug  filled  with 
New  England  rum,  and  the  deacon  informed 
him  that  he  had  done  selling  spirit.  From 
that  time,  he  became  a  truly  respectable 
deacon.  He  more  than  redeemed  his  pledge 
to  Gabriel  Kelly ;  for  he  received  Alice  into 
his  own  family,  where  she  remained,  until  she 
married  a  worthy  mechanic.  But  it  is  time 
for  me  to  offer  you  my  apology  for  this 
trespass  upon  your  patience."  —  "Veil, 
mynheer,"  said  the  Dutchman,  "  dat  ish  vat 
I  calls  a  vary  goot  shtory;  and  who  ish  to 


198  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

tell  de  nex  von?  Here,"  continued  he, 
addressing  the  daughter  of  the  Emerald  Isle 
"  vat  have  you  got  to  zay  apout  dish  temper 
ance  pisness,  eh,  voman  ?  " 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  199 


PART    SIXTH. 


"OcH,  daar  sir,"  cried  the  poor  -Irish 
woman,  "  it's  no  moor  nor  a  poor  widdy,  that 
I  am,  a  lone  wuman,  sir,  lift  dissolute,  and 
this  same  has  happunt  to  me  foor  times 
already.  It's  not  for  the  like  o'  me  to  prate 
afoor  quality." — "  Veil,  veil,"  cried  the  Dutch 
man,  "  naver  moind  apout  dat ;  let  us  know 
vat  ish  your  idees  of  de  temperance  pisness." 
—  "Lard  bliss  your  honor,"  she  replied,  "its 
timp'rance,  and  nathing  else  in  the  warld,  has 
done  the  job  for  myself  and  my  poor  daar 
husbands,  —  all  foor  on  em,  —  and  I,  as  I 
toult  ye,  a  lone  widdy  into  the  bargain." 
Here  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands, 
and  uttered  a  problematical  sound,  between  a 
scream  and  a  howl. — After  a  considerable 
pause,  during  which  the  Dutchman  had 
listened  to  the  widow's  ululations,  with 


200  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

evident  impatience, — "Dere's  netting/7  said 
he,  with  a  comical  expression,  "  will  shtop 
grief,  ven  he  preak  loose,  and  make  a  pig 
noise,  like  Hollands ;  did  you  ever  try  'em  ?  " 
—  At  first  we  were  a  little  shocked  by  the 
Dutchman's  plain  inquiry.  He  had  evidently 
seen  something  of  human  nature.  He  had 
given  abundant  evidence,  during  the  day,  of 
an  affectionate  heart,  but  he  was  apparently 
unwilling  to  squander  its  sympathies  upon  a 
worthless  object.  —  "I  zay,  goot  voman,  did 
you  ever  try  de  Hollands  ? "  continued  he, 
repeating  the  question. — "Och,  my  sow], 
your  honor,  niver  nor  any  kind  o'  shpirit ;  it's 
not  mysilf,  that  would  do  that  same  ;  I  niver 
tuk  a  dhrap  in  my  hull  life,  only  jist,  as  the 
good  old  praast,  Father  O'Callaghan,  used  to 
say,  in  silf-defince,  to  kaap  the  wind  afF  the 
stomach,  or  the  like  o'  that.  At  wakes  and 
birrils,  ye  know,  sir,  it's  all  right  for  the 
dacency  o'  the  thing.  But  it's  mysilf,  that 
has  had  enough  o'  timperance  in  my  dee,  ye 
may  well  say  that.  There  was  my  first 
husband  —  rest  his  sowl  —  John  Dory  it 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  201 

was,  he  was  a  raal  timperance  man.  In  my 
oult  father's  cabin,  there  was  the  crathur  a 
plinty,  and  mony's  the  brukken  head  that's  fell 
to  my  share,  for  interfaaring  atwixt  the  oult 
folks,  whin  they  kirn  to  licks  or  the  like  o' 
that  ower  their  whisky.  So  I  was  detarmint 
niver  to  be  the  wife  o'  ony  other  nor  a  tim 
perance  mon.  John  Dory  was  forward  enough 
in  his  way  o'  coorting,  for  one  o'  my  country, 
and  I  soon  got  a  chance  to  smill  o'  the  lad's 
brith,  and  swaater  it  was  nor  ony  rose,  to  be 
sure.  There  was  not  the  laast  parfume  o'  the 
crathur.  So  I  made  up  my  mind,  that  John 
Doiy  was  the  man  for  Polly  M'Gee.  I  pit 
the  plain  quistion  to  him,  this  a  way,  c  John 
Dory/  said  I,  £  it's  not  mysilf,  that'll  sit 
down  for  life  wid  a  whisky-drinker.'  £  Daar 
Polly,'  said  he,  '  my  name's  not  John  Dory,  if 
I'm  the  like  o'  that.  I  despise  the  maan 
shtuff,  and  ye'll  niver  find  me  a  touching  a 
dhrap  o'  it,  no  time  o'  dee.'  So  John  and 
me  was  married,  and  he  kipt  his  promise  to 
the  litter.  But,  for  all  that,  there  niver  was 
a  woman  in  County  Cark,  that  got  sich 


202  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

tirrible  baatings  fro'  her  drunken  husband,  as 
Mrs.  Dory,  that  was  my  own  self,  ye  know. 
And,  for  all  that,  he  niver  touched  a  dhrap  o' 
whisky.  It  was  nathing  in  the  warld  but 
brandy  and  Hollands.  John  was  kilt  outright, 
in  a  riglar  shelala  fight  in  the  city  o'  Cark ; 
and  while  we  was  a  raising  the  Jceena  at  the 
poor  mon's  wake,  the  very  night  afore  his 
birril,  Pether  O'Keefe,  his  third  cousin  by  the 
mother's  side,  squaazed  rny  hand  and  breathed 
so  hard,  that  'twas  plain  enough,  he  was  after 
coorting  mysilf  jist  thin.  <  Pether,'  said  I,  in 
a  whisper,  c  be  aisy ;  how  can  ye  be  so 
unsaasonable  ? '  —  c  Och,  ye're  a  jewel,'  said 
he,  in  a  low  tone,  and  thin  he'd  raise  his 
voice,  to  the  top  o'  his  lungs,  and  join  in  the 
Iceena  for  the  poor  departed  mon,  his  own 
third  cousin,  as  I  toult  ye. 

"  In  about  a  waak  Pether  kim  to  coort  my 
silf  riglar.  I  toult  him  that  I  was  not  ower 
covetous  o'  being  married  again.  c  Ye're 
maaning  to  shpake  indirictly,'  said  he,  '  o'  my 
cousin  Dory's  not  being  so  perlite  as  he 
might  'a  been.  He  baat  ye,  I'm  toult,  —  it 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  203 

was  the  ondacent  thing,  to  be  sure  ;  but  he's 
anunder  boord  now,  and  we'll  be  after  saying 
pace  to  his  sowl.  Ye'll  be  safe  enough,  Polly, 
wid  Pether  O'Keefe,  if  ye'll  be  a  little  con- 
sinting  to  be  the  wife  o'  a  jontleman  like 
mysilf.  It's  not  my  father's  son  that  wull  be 
sucking  the  mountain  dew,  hinny,  from  marn- 
ing  to  night.  Whisky's  a  maan  thing,  ony 
how ;  Jamaica  is  haating ;  so  is  brandy  ;  and 
gin  is  pertikler  dishagraable.  I  niver  tak  a 
dhrap  o'  'em,  Polly,  and,  by  the  powers,  it's 
not  mysilf  that  ever  wull.' 

"  Haar,  ye  see,  was  a  raal  timperance  mon, 
none  o'  your  half-way  spalpeens,  that  are 
nather  one  thing  nor  the  tother.  Afoor  two 
months  we  was  married,  Pether  and  myself, 
and  a  right  paceable  time  we  had  o'  it,  for 
four  and  twenty  hours.  The  very  next  night 
it  was,  that  Pether  O'Keefe  kim  home  as 
drunk  as  a  baast.  c  Och,  Pether,'  said  I, 
cFm  faaring  it's  yourself,  that  has  been 
midling  wid  the  crathur.'  — £  Hout,  ye  jade,' 
said  he,  (  away  wid  your  blarney,  or,  by  the 
powers  o'  mud,  I'll  be  after  knocking  your 


204  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

taath  claan  down  into  your  bread-basket,  ony 
how.'  — <  Och,  Pether,  Pether,'  said  I,  c  is  it 
yourself  that  wull  be  using  me  that  a  way  ? 
Ye've  been  up  to  the  dishtillery.'  — ( It's  a  lie, 
an  plase  ye,'  cried  Pether  ;  '  I've  been  down 
to  Bill  Keegan's  wid  half  a  dozen  moor  tast 
ing  a  few  quarts  o'  broon  shtout.'  — c  Daar 
mon,'  said  I,  cye've  promised  me  to  have 
nathing  to  do  wid  the  crathur;  now  jist  tak  a 
bit  o'  paper,  and  gie  it  to  me,  in  black  and 
white.'  — c  Black  and  white  it  is  ? '  cried 
Pether,  as  he  shprang  up  in  a  rage  ;  '  by  the 
powers  ye  shall  have  it  in  black  and  blue/ 
said  he,  and  he  gave  me  a  click  in  the  eye, 
that  sent  me  head  ower  haals  upon  the  floor. 
I  was  soon  Pether's  widdy,  for  he  died  in  a 
fit,  about  siven  waaks  after  we  was  married. 

"  I  thought  I  had  had  enough  o'  matrimony 
and  tirnperance  to  boot ;  so  I  resolved  to  be 
my  own  woman  for  the  rist  o'  my  dees. 
But  how  it  happunt  I  niver  was  able  to  tell, 
in  a  yaar  or  something  liss  it  was,  after 
Pether  O'Keefe  was  pit  under  boord,  I  was 
ower-persuaded  by  Phelim  McCarthy,  a 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  205 

swaat  young  mon  it  was.  Afoor  we  was 
married,  I  toult  Phelim  o'  all  the  throubles 
myself  had  had,  wid  John  Dory  and  Pether 
O'Keefe,  and  how  I  was  detarmint  niver  to  be 
married  agin  to  ony  mon,  what  tuk  shpirit  or 
the  like  o'  that.  cDaar  Polly,'  said  he, 
'  ye've  found  your  own  mon,  and  its  Phelim 
McCarthy,  at  your  sarvice.  It's  mysilf  it  is, 
that's  signed  the  plidge  o'  the  Timperance 
Society.'  — '  Sowl  o'  me,'  said  I, c  how  I  wish 
I'd  jist  mit  wid  ye,  Phelim,  afoor.  A  mimber 
o'  the  Timperance  Society  ye  are ! '  — c  It's 
aven  so,  Polly/  said  he,  '  and  ye'll  not  be 
after  finding  more  jonteel  and  raasonable 
people,  to  be  sure.'  I  lost  no  time  in  being 
married  to  Phelim,  but  I  repinted  at  my 
lasure,  indaad  I  did.  He  was  a  bigger 
drunkard  nor  John  nor  Pether.  He  laid  in 
three  berrils  o'  oult  sour  cider  in  the  begin 
ning,  and  he  kipt  himsilf  drunk  dee  and 
night.  Och,  sirs,  whin  John  Dory,  my  first 
husband,  daar  mon,  —  whin  he  was  drunk 
wid  the  raal  crathur,  he  bate  me,  to  be  sure, 
but  after  a  little  bating  fro'  mysilf,  wid  the 


206  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

poker  or  some  sich  convanient  machine,  he'd 
lay  aisy,  he  would,  till  the  nixt  dee.  It  wasn't 
jist  that  same  wid  Pether.  The  broon  shtout 
and  the  porther  was  moor  slaapier  for  his 
nathur,  it  was;  and  though,  if  I  didn't  claar 
out  o'  his  way,  whin  he  was  raal  befuggled, 
he'd  be  sure  to  gie  me  a  click  in  the  chaps,  01 
a  teest  o'  his  great  showther  of  mutton  fist  in 
the  ribs,  yet  if  I  kipt  a  look-out,  whin  he  was 
taking  his  short  tacks  and  bating  into  the 
door  way,  I  could  na  fail  to  manage  him 
nately  wid  the  oult  mop,  ye  see.  The 
handle  was  jist  o'  the  length  to  kaap  him  aff, 
and  the  oult  rags,  whin  I  pit  'em  in  his  face, 
saamed  to  confuse  him  pretty  considerably 
entirely.  It  was  an  aisy  thing  it  was,  to  pish 
Pether  ower  on  the  bid  or  maybe  the  floor, 
and  'twas  aisier  for  him  thin  to  get  aslaap, 
than  to  clamber  up  on  to  his  ligs  agin.  Och, 
sirs,  these  here  was  a  moor  paceable  sort  o'  a 
way  oj  baaing  drunk  nor  Phelim  McCarthy's 
on  his  oult  cider.  He  was  iver  a  jowering, 
and  niver  so  raal  drunk  as  to  be  aisy.  He 
kipt  his  ligs  he  did,  and  had  the  fraa  use  o' 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  207 

his  arms,  whin  he  was  the  drunkest.  He 
made  nathing  at  all  o'  drubbing  me,  wid  a  hull 
gallon  o'  cider  aboord.  I  tried  to  kaap  the 
oult  woolf  in  order,  one  dee,  wid  the  mop,  jist 
as  I  did  Pether  so  aisy.  He  whisked  it  all 
away  in  a  jiffy.  c  I'll  gie  ye  a  ride,3  said  he, 
*  ye  Killkenny  divil's  bird/  —  an  ondacent 
reflection  that  same  upon  my  barthplace, — 
so  he  saazed  me  by  the  hair,  and  dragged  me 
a  half  quarter  o'  a  mile,  and  I  crying  for 
marcy  the  hull  way.  Whiniver  I  toult  him 
he  was  drunk,  as  I  did  pretty  riglar  ivery 
dee  ;  <  It's  yourself  that's  an  ignorant  baast,' 
he  would  say ;  c  how  can  Phelim  McCarthy 
be  drunk,  whin  it's  known  for  a  universal 
thing  that  he's  a  mimber  o'  the  Timperance 
Society,  and  niver  touches  nor  tastes  a  dhrap 
o'  the  raal  fiery  crathur ! '  We  was  married 
aboot  two  years,  whin  Phelim  died  o'  the 
colic.  He  said,  wid  his  last  brith,  it  was  the 
cider,  that  had  gi'n  him  his  gruel;  and  that 
he  didn't  belaave  there  was  a  doctor  in  the 
hull  warld,  no  moor  nor  a  potecary,  that  could 
take  the  twist  out  o'  his  bowels  jist  thin.  So 


208  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

ye  see,  sirs,  I  was  lift  alone  in  the  warld,  a 
poor  widely,  and  a  lone  wuman  entirely.  But 
I'm  fear'd  ye'll  be  thinking  I  had  the  luck  o' 
being  coorted,  for  it  wasn't  moor  nor  a  waak 
arter  Phelim's  birril,  that  Patrick  McClanni- 
gan  made  me  an  offer  of  his  own  silf.  He 
was  five  yaars  younger  nor  me  ;  maybe  there 
didn't  saam  that  differ,  for  I  was  wonderfully 
supported  under  my  throubles,  to  be  sure.  I 
was  more  detarmint  nor  iver  niver  to  be 
nobody's  wife  any  moor.  Patrick  was  not 
the  liss  detarmint  himsilf  in  his  own  way.  It 
was  not  the  aisiest  thing  in  the  warld  to  resist 
the  lad  that  he  was.  I  lit  him  see  jist  how  I 
had  been  desaaved  and  chated ;  and  I  toult 
him  I'd  not  be  the  wife  o'  the  man  alive,  who 
would  take  a  dhrap  o'  ony  thing,  that  would 
be  the  maans  o'  gitting  him  drunk.  '  Polly,' 
said  he,  '  I'll  not  desaave  ye,  by  the  powers. 
Fll  confiss  the  hull  truth  to  ye  now.  Fse 
taken  a  chaaring  dhrap  now  and  thin,  to  be 
sure,  but  it's  mysilf  that'll  do  a'most  ony  thing 
to  plase  the  like  o'  you.  Now,  an  it's  your 
wull  and  plisure,  we  can  fix  it  this  a  way : 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  209 

haar's  a  Timperance  Society,  that  goes  the  hull 
as  they  say,  none  o'  your  half-way  societies 
it  is.  Ivery  mimber  o'  it  is  boond  fast,  sowl 
and  buddy,  not  to  take  a  dhrap  o'  any  fuddle- 
some  liquor,  ye  see,  saving  as  a  rnidicine. 
Now  it's  Patrick  McCIannigan,  that'll  sign  the 
plidge  o'  that  same  society.'  — c  Do  it,  Patrick/ 
said  I,  c  and  I'll  be  Mrs.  McCIannigan  right 
away.'  —  He  shprang  upon  his  faat  and  wint 
off  like  a  shut.  In  liss  nor  an  hour  he  kirn 
back  wid  a  certificate,  that  he  had  plidged 
himsilf  to  abstain  from  ivery  intoxicating 
liquor  saving  as  a  midicine.  We  was 
married,  and  I'm  tilling  ye  the  truth  whin  I 
say,  that  he  niver  had  a  wall  day  after  that. 
He  drinkt  whisky  like  a  sponge,  he  did,  and 
iver  as  a  midicine.  Whin  he  got  drunk,  as 
he  did  at  Billy  O'Finnigan's  birril,  I  toult  him 
he  had  brukken  his  plidge.  — '  No,  Polly 
daar,'  said  he,  c  isn't  it  midicine  for  the  sowl  o' 
rne?'  But  he  is  did  and  gane,  poor  lad,  and 
I  am  lift  a  dissolute  widdy  once  moor.  I've 
no  great  opinion  o'  timperance,  ye  may 
belaave." 

18 


210  THE    STAGE-COACH.      - 

The  Irish  widow,  by  her  extraordinary 
narrative,  had  occasioned  more  smiles  than 
tears.  "  Veil,  mine  goot  voman,"  exclaimed 
the  old  Dutchman,  at  the  termination  of  her 
story,  "  you  have  sailed  upon  von  vinegar 
voyage,  mitout  coining  to  de  haven  where  you 
vould  pe.  Vat  dish  voman  tell,"  continued 
he,  addressing  the  company,  **  prove  dat  de 
only  vay  ish  to  let  de  shtufF  alone,  call  'em 
vat  you  please.  Now,  mynheer,"  looking  at 
his  watch,  and  turning  to  the  elderly  gentle 
man,  <  dere  vill  pe  moor  dan  von  hour  pefore 

ve  arrive  at .     Vill  you  please 

to  give  us  a  leetil  more  of  your  talk  apout  de 
temperance  pisness  ?  Maype,  you  can  give 
us  a  shtory  yourself." 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  211 


PART    SEVENTH. 


"  THE  subject  does  not  appear  to  be  ex 
hausted/'  said  the  elderly  gentleman,  "and  I 
cannot  refuse  to  comply  with  your  request, 
since  every  other  individual  has  freely  con 
tributed  to  the  common  stock. 

"  Nothing  appears  to  me  less  extraordinary, 
than  the  commencement  of  the  temperance 
reform  in  the  warfare  against  ardent  spirit 
alone.  Though  used,  more  or  less,  by  all 
orders  in  society,  it  was  emphatically  the 
beverage  of  the  humbler  classes.  —  It  was 

o 

the  poor  man's  brief  consolation  and  perma 
nent  curse.  —  We  are  more  prone  to  correct 
the  vices  and  follies  of  our  neighbors  than  our 
own.  To  such,  among  the  higher  classes,  as 
were  disposed  to  be  philanthropists,  it  was 
a  graceful  and  an  acceptable  office,  to  carry 
the  banners  of  moral  reform  among  the  poor. 


212  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

Yet,  if  education,  rank,  and  riches  serve  to 
aggravate  our  sins,  the  wine  drunkenness  of 
the  rich  was  more  enormous  than  the  rum 
drunkenness  of  the  poor.  The  beam,  there 
fore,  was  not  unfrequently  found  in  the  rich 
man's  eye.  There  was,  at  the  commence 
ment  of  the  reformation,  as  I  think,  not  less 
intemperance,  proportionally,  in  the  higher 
than  in  the  lower  walks  of  life.  If  this  opinion 
should  be  thought  erroneous  by  some,  let  it 
be  remembered,  that  the  rich  are  few  in  num 
ber,  and  the  poor  an  overwhelming  majority. 
The  poor  were  not  likely  to  commence  a 
reformation  for  the  rich.  Accordingly,  the 
higher  orders  commenced  it  for  the  poor. 
Rum,  brandy,  gin,  and  whisky  were  de 
nounced.  Wines  and  cordials  were  spared. 
The  drunkenness  forbidden  in  holy  writ,  as 
every  one  knows,  was  drunkenness  on  fer 
mented  liquors,  for  distillation  was  then  un 
known.  With  him,  who  is  of  purer  eyes  than 
to  behold  iniquity,  it  can  be  no  cause  for 
qualification  ;  it  cannot  vary  the  character  of 
the  offence  the  tithe  of  a  hair,  that  drunken 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  213 

ness  is  produced  by  one  intoxicating  beverage, 
rather  than  by  another. 

"  The  appetite  for  intoxicating  liquor  has 
been  coeval  with  its  existence.  Drunkenness 
has  existed  upon  the  earth,  as  a  personal,  do 
mestic,  and  national  curse,  since  the  means 
of  drunkenness  were  contrived.  Man,  for  all 
the  purposes  of  drunkenness,  is  precisely  such 
as  he  was  in  the  wine-making  days  of  Noah  ; 
and,  while  similar  means  of  drunkenness  re 
main,  similar  effects  will  result  from  their 
employment.  This  appears  to  me  to  be  plain 
common  sense.  Now,  if  ardent  spirit  should 
be  abandoned,  mankind  would  fall  back  upon 
one  fermented  liquor  after  another,  as  a  re 
treating  army  retires  successively  upon  its 
strong-holds.  1  perceive  no  reason,  therefore, 
why  wine,  if  it  should  ever  become  the  bev 
erage  of  the  people  as  of  old,  should  not  work 
for  us  the  very  same  miserable  results,  which 
it  wrought  for  '  all  the  inhabitants  of  Jerusa 
lem?  in  the  days  of  Jeremiah.  In  the  nar 
rative,  which  this  poor  woman  has  given  us 
of  her  matrimonial  experiences,  you  perceive, 


214 


THE    STAGE-COACH. 


that  drunkenness  may  be  produced  by  more 
than  one  intoxicating  liquor. 

"  When  the  natural  appetite  for  water  be 
comes  vitiated,  by  the  use  of  any  inebriating 
liquor,  the  desire  for  the  accustomed  stimulus 
will  induce  the  beer-drinker  and  the  wine- 
drinker  to  prefer  the  more  fiery  beverages  to 
that  of  God's  appointment,  if  wine  and  beer 
are  not  to  be  obtained.  Nothing,  in  my  opin 
ion,  would  be  gained  by  mankind,  if  the  high 
est  achievement  of  the  reformation  were  the 
substitution  of  one  intoxicating  liquor  foi 
another,  and  such,  I  have  no  doubt,  would  be 
the  result,  if  its  advocates  should  aim  at  the 
abolition  of  ardent  spirits  alone,  permitting 
mankind  to  employ  all  other  inebriating  liquors 
at  discretion. 

"  In  the  city  in  which  I  reside,  there  was  a 
young  man  of  uncommon  promise,  who  was 
well  known  to  me  from  his  earliest  years. 
His  character  and  bearing  were  singularly 
lofty.  Meanness,  in  all  its  forms,  was  sure  to 
awaken  his  indignation  and  disgust.  Among 
the  vices  of  mankind,  there  were  few,  which 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  215 

he  seemed  to  detest  so  thoroughly,  as  drunken 
ness.  His  abhorrence  of  a  drunkard  was  per 
fectly  Castilian.  This  young  gentleman, 
whose  name  was  Arthur  Middleton,  had,  in 
his  own  family,  the  most  melancholy  exam 
ples  of  intemperance.  His  two  elder  broth 
ers  had  long  continued  in  the  habit  of  almost 
daily  intoxication.  They  were  both  married, 
and  each  was  surrounded  by  a  group  of  un 
happy  little  ones,  destined,  apparently,  to  that 
inheritance  of  ignorance,  poverty,  and  rags, 
which  so  commonly  falls  to  the  lot  of  a  drunk 
ard's  progeny.  The  contrast,  between  these 
unhappy  men  and  their  younger  brother,  was 
singularly  striking.  It  was  precisely  all  that 
difference,  which  lies  between  vicious  poverty 
and  honorable  thrift. 

"  After  a  collegiate  education  and  the  reg 
ular  term  of  professional  study,  Arthur  Mid 
dleton  had  commenced  the  practice  of  the 
law,  with  no  ordinary  prospect  of  success. 
His  brothers  had  not  enjoyed  the  advantages 
of  a  liberal  education.  One  of  them  had  been 
engaged  in  trade  ;  and  the  other,  following 


21 G  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

ihe  plough,  after  the  example  of  a  worthy- 
father,  had  been  a  respectable  farmer,  until 
he  became  an  idler  and  a  drunkard.  The 
superior  advantages  of  education  and  profes 
sional  success  were  not  suffered,  by  Arthur 
Middleton,  to  constitute  a  barrier  of  pride  and 
selfishness,  between  himself  and  his  unhappy 
brothers.  Upon  more  than  one  occasion,  I 
have  been  deeply  affected,  as  I  have  listened 
to  his  elevated  sentiments,  when  speaking  of 
these  misguided  relatives.  '  My  education/ 
lie  would  often  say,  c  has  placed  me,  I  trust, 
far  beyond  the  reach  of  this  vulgar  liability. 
God  has  prospered  me  in  my  affairs.  I  have 
acquired  some  property,  some  reputation,  per 
haps.  Show  me  the  way,  in  which  I  can 
employ  all  that  God  has  given  me,  more  ac 
ceptably  in  his  sight,  than  by  flying  to  the 
rescue  of  my  unhappy  brothers.  They  are 
the  children  of  my  father  and  of  my  mother. 
They  were  the  companions  —  the  playmates 
of  my  childhood.  I  can  never  forget  a  par 
ent's  dying  injunction,  as  he  took  a  hand  of 
us  each,  within  his  own,  gave  us  his  parting 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  217 

benediction,  and  bade  us  love  one  another. 
They  are  sadly  intemperate,  it  is  true,  —  but 
I  will  be  the  last  to  despair  of  their  reform 
ation.' 

"  For  the  accomplishment  of  this  important 
object,  and  under  a  strong  consciousness  of 
duty,  he  suffered  no  expedient  to  remain  un 
employed.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  he  was 
completely  successful.  The  painful  relation, 
in  which  he  stood  to  these  unhappy  men, 
had  very  naturally  drawn  him  into  closer  con 
nection  with  temperance  men  and  temperance 
measures.  He  became  an  active  and  efficient 
member,  and,  finally,  an  officer  of  a  tem 
perance  society.  The  application  of  such 
means,  as  were  thus  brought  within  his  reach, 
enabled  him  to  exert  that  happy  influence 
upon  his  two  brothers,  which  finally  produced 
their  perfect  reformation.  He  became,  under 
God,  he  minister  of  happiness  to  these  two 
miserab  i  families,  and  enabled  them  to  gather 
once  aga.  i  in  peace  around  their  firesides." 

The  ek.5rly  gentleman  paused  for  a  mo 
ment,  and,  with  evident  emotion,  continued  as 
19 


218  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

follows :  —  "  Arthur  Middleton  had  long  been 
attached  to  a  lovely  girl,  a  distant  connection 
of  his  own.  She  was  very  young,  and  his 
admirable  qualities  of  head  and  heart  seemed 
not,  for  a  time,  to  be  as  carefully  weighed  by 
her,  as  they  might  have  been,  in  the  balance  of 
some  graver  spinster.  It  was  my  fortune  to  be 
the  first,  who  related  in  her  hearing  the  circum 
stances,  to  which  I  have  just  now  referred. 
She  appeared  to  listen  with  unusual  interest. 
I  was  entirely  willing,  that  she  should  have  in 
her  possession  the  most  ample  materials,  for 
judging  correctly  of  this  excellent  young 
man.  I  exhibited  before  her  the  wretched, 
fallen  state  of  these  miserable  men,  —  the 
sufferings  of  their  wives,  —  the  worse  than 
fatherless  condition  of  their  children.  —  the 
entire  absence  of  every  gleam  of  happiness 
from  their  firesides,  —  the  prospect  before 
them  of  committing,  sooner  or  later,  '.j  the 
drunkard's  grave,  their  husbands  — their 
fathers,  —  once  the  objects  of  their  love  and 
reverence.  I  contrasted  this  sic'  en  ing  pic 
ture  with  another,  and  bade  her  look  on  that. 


THE    STAGE-COA(<H.  219 

I  set  before  her  imagination  the  same  un 
happy  men,  sacrificing  their  idols  upon  the 
altars  of  domestic  repose, — shaking  off  the 
bandages  of  a  moral  death,  —  taking  once 
more  into  their  hands  the  implements  of 
honest  industry,  and  no  longer  converting  its 
avails  into  the  means  of  misery,  but  into 
bread,  that  their  little  ones  might  eat  and  live. 
I  bade  her  contemplate  the  beggar's  rags 
exchanged  for  comfortable  raiment,  —  the 
drunkard's  cheerless  hearth  for  the  happy 
cottager's  fireside.  '  This  change,'  said  I, 

o  o    7  y 

c  under  the  merciful  providence  of  God,  is 
entirely  attributable  to  the  zeal,  and  energy, 
and  brotherly  love,  of  our  young  friend.' 
For  the  first  time,  as  I  believe,  that  sentiment 
was  awakened  in  the  heart  of  this  amiable 
girl,  which  ultimately  ripened  into  the  most 
devoted  affection.  As  I  concluded  my 
simple  narrative,  and  while  she  was  brushing 
the  tear  from  her  eye,  the  door  opened,  and 
Arthur  Middleton  entered  the  apartment. — 
Nothing  has  ever  appeared  more  lovely, 
since  the  fall  of  man,  than  certain  impulses 


220  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

of  the  youthful  heart,  —  as  yet  unsullied  by 
the  world's  alloy,  —  chaste,  and  unsuspecting, 
and  all  untrammelled  by  those  ceremonious 
usages  and  laws,  which  belong,  of  right,  to 
social  intercourse,  and  which  it  is  by  no 
means  my  purpose  to  condemn.  This  young 
gentleman  no  sooner  entered  the  apartment, 
than  Margaret  Alston  rose  from  her  chair, 
and  walked  earnestly  towards  him.  c 1  am 
delighted  to  see  you,  Mr.  Middleton,'  said 
she,  giving  him  her  hand.  Arthur  Middleton 
was  evidently  embarrassed  by  this  unex 
pected  salutation,  from  one,  of  whose  coldness 
or  indifference  he  had  hitherto  believed  him 
self  entitled  to  complain ;  and  Margaret 
herself,  abashed  by  the  consciousness  of  her 
own  precipitation,  somewhat  awkwardly  re 
sumed  her  seat  and  her  needle-work.  (  We 
were  speaking,  Mr.  Middleton,'  said  I,  with 
the  intention  of  removing  the  unpleasant 
sensation  as  speedily  as  possible,  — f  we  \vere 
speaking  of  the  happy  result  of  your  efforts 
for  the  reformation  of  your  two  brothers.'  — 
'The  change  in  their  condition  is  truly 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  221 

wonderful,'  he  replied.  (l  yesterday  re 
turned  from  a  visit  to  Geoffrey,  my  oldest 
brother.  I  passed  the  Sabbath  with  his 
family,  and,  I  can  truly  aver,  the  happiest 
Sabbath  of  my  life.  He  has  five  girls  and 
one  boy,  —  and  six  lovelier  children  I  never 
beheld.  I  had  not  been  half  an  hour  in  the 
cottage,  before  Tim,  their  little  boy,  who  is 
about  seven  years  old,  took  me  down  into  the 
field,  and  showed  me  a  spot  underneath  an 
old  walnut,  where  the  green  sward  appeared 
to  have  been  broken.  "Daddy's  jug  is 
buried  there,"  said  the  child ;  "  he  broke  it  on 
that  stone,  when  he  left  off  drinking,  and  the 
next  day  he  said  he  couldn't  bear  to  see  the 
pieces ;  so  he  buried  'em.  Daddy  prays 
every  night  out  loud  now,  that  God  would 
help  him  to  keep  his  pledge  and  drink  no 
more  rum.  He  asks  mother  to  pray  for  him 
too.  Daddy  lets  me  ride  jack-horse  on  his 
knee,  just  as  he  used  to.  I  aan't  a  mite 
afeard  on  him  now.  He  don't  kick  the 
children  into  the  fire,  when  they're  a-parching 
corn,  as  he  did  once.  Uncle  John's  left  off 


222  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

too.  He  was  here  last  week.  He  and 
father  used  to  quarrel,  but  they've  made  all 
up.  When  he  used  to  come  here,  daddy 
always  got  out  the  jug,  and  mother  used  to 
say  we  should  have  trouble  afore  long ;  and 
so  she  got  us  all  out  o'  the  way  over  to 
Deacon  Blaney's.  But  when  uncle  John 
come  last  week,  and  brought  aunt  Sukey, 
they  didn't  have  any  such  thing ;  and,  afore 
uncle  John  went  away,  daddy  didn't  get  out 
any  jug,  but  he  got  out  mother's  Bible,  and 
read  a  chapter,  and  then  he  prayed,  and 
uncle  John  prayed,  that  God  would  keep  'em 
both  from  drinking  any  more  rum ;  and 
mother  and  aunt  Sukey  cried  like  all  pos 
sessed." —  When  Sabbath  morning  came,' 
continued  Mr.  Middleton,  '  my  brother  Geof 
frey's  wife  expressed  some  little  uneasiness 
on  account  of  little  Tim's  threadbare  apparel. 
"  Never  mind,  wife,"  said  Geoffrey,  "  God 
looks  at  the  heart ;  —  let's  pray  to  be  able  to 
mend  that ;  —  I  don't  believe  the  Lord  will 
mind  Tim's  old  clothes ;  and,  afore  another 
Sabbath,  maybe  we'll  do  better."  ' 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  223 

"  We  were  deeply  affected,"  continued  the 
elderly  gentleman,  "  with  Arthur  Middleton's 
account.  From  the  period  of  this  interview, 
the  relation  between  this  young  man  and  the 
object  of  his  affections  became  of  a  closer 
character.  Ere  long,  she  announced  to  her 
parents,  that  Mr.  Middleton  had  made  her 
proposals  of  marriage.  Their  approbation 
was  cheerfully  bestowed,  and  the  young  lady 
received  a  full  moiety  of  all  those  felicitations, 
which  commonly  abound  upon  such  occasions 
as  these.  Such  were  the  talents,  character, 
and  prospects,  of  Arthur  Middleton,  that 
Margaret  Alston  was  universally  accounted  a 
most  fortunate  girl.  —  They  were  married.  — 
They  were  happy.  —  In  little  more  than  a 
twelvemonth,  she  gave  birth  to  a  lovely  girl. 

—  His  professional  prospects  were  unclouded 

—  At  this  period  of  his  life,  he  gave  a  willing 
ear  to  the  suggestions  of  his    political  asso 
ciates  and  friends,  who  endeavored    to   per 
suade  him,  that  his  talents  and  accomplish 
ments  were  not  altogether  the  private  prop 
erty   of   their    possessor.       Accordingly,    he 


224  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

entered  upon  the  career  of  public  life.  Witli 
those,  whose  suffrages  contributed  to  place 
him  among  the  legislators  of  his  native 
commonwealth,  the  friends  of  the  temperance 
reform  were  delighted  to  cooperate ;  and  they 
had  no  occasion  to  regret  his  election.  His 
efforts  to  correct  the  evils  of  the  license 
system,  so  far  as  it  is  susceptible  of  legislative 
amendment,  were  indefatigable.  Mr.  Middle- 
ton's  manner  of  life  could  not,  with  perfect 
propriety,  be  styled  extravagant.  He  was 
exceedingly  hospitable,  and  a  liberal  enter 
tainer.  His  income  at  no  time  exceeded  the 
limit  of  his  expenditure.  He  was  never  able 
to  say  that  he  had  laid  up  a  farthing,  at  the 
close  of  any  year. 

"  In  addition  to  his  professional  and  politi 
cal  engagements,  the  temperance  cause  lev 
ied  no  ordinary  tax  upon  his  time  and  toil. 
He  had  occasionally  lectured  upon  several 
of  its  interesting  topics  with  the  happiest 
effect ;  and  he  suffered  no  occasion  to  pass 
unimproved,  for  the  reformation  of  intem 
perate  men. 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  225 

"  Notwithstanding  his  natural  temperament, 
which  was  uncommonly  ardent,  Mr.  Middle- 
ton  was  remarkable  for  his  entire  self-posses 
sion  at  the  bar.  I  never  recollect,  but  on 
one  occasion,  to  have  seen  him  manifestly 
nettled,  and  so  thoroughly  confused,  that  he 
was  utterly  unable  to  reply.  Three  young 
men,  students  in  the  university,  were  indicted 
for  an  aggravated  assault  and  battery  upon  a 
farmer,  somewhat  advanced  in  years.  I 
presided  at  the  trial  of  this  indictment.  Mr. 
Middleton  was  counsel  for  the  young  men, 
and  endeavored  to  prove,  that  the  old  man 
was  drunk,  and  the  aggressor.  It  was  clearly 
shown  that  he  had  drunk  five  glasses  of  rum, 
during  the  day,  upon  which  the  assault  and  bat 
tery  occurred,  and  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
drinking  ardent  spirit.  This  testimony  was 
rebutted,  by  the  evidence  of  an  experienced 
dram-seller,  well  qualified  to  judge,  from  his 
knowledge  of  the  old  man's  habits.  The 
dram-seller  testified,  that  he  had  sold  him  rum 
almost  daily,  for  twenty  years ;  —  and  that  he 
could  drink  three  times  that  number  of  drams 


THE    STAGE-COACH. 

in  a  day,  without  being  drunk ;  and  that 
he  was  remarkable  in  the  parish  for  the 
strength  of  his  head.  Other  witnesses  cor 
roborated  this  testimony ;  and  it  was  proved 
that  the  old  farmer  had  made  some  shrewd 
bargains,  a  very  short  time  before  the  ren 
counter.  On  the  other  hand,  it  was  shown 
to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  the  jury,  that  the 
young  men,  one  and  all,  were  unquestionably 
drunk  ;  —  that  they  were  members  —  in  good 
standing  —  of  the  Porcellian  Club;  —  that 
they  had  just  come  forth,  at  the  time  of  the 
assault,  from  a  Porcellian  dinner ;  —  and  that 
they  had  drunken  no  stronger  intoxicating 
liquor  than  wine.  At  that  time,  the  princi 
ples  of  the  temperance  reformation  were  less 
perfectly  understood,  than  they  are  at  the 
present  day.  Mr.  Middleton,  though  strenu 
ously  opposed  to  the  use  of  ardent  spirit,  was 
in  the  daily  practice  of  taking  his  wine,  and 
putting  his  bottle  to  his  neighbor !  In  the 
then  existing  condition  of  the  temperance 
reform,  a  proposal  to  abstain  from  wine,  and 
all  other  fermented  liquors,  would  have  been 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  227 

rejected  as  thoroughly  absurd,  by  an  over 
whelming  majority  of  all  those,  who  had  set 
their  names  to  the  temperance  pledge.  It 
would  have  been  thought  impossible  to  get 
along  with  the  common  courtesies  of  social 
intercourse,  without  this  wonderful  promoter 
of  '  the  feast  of  reason  and  the  flow  of  soul.' 
Mr.  Middleton  evinced  considerable  irritation, 
when  he  perceived,  that  the  old  rum-drinking 
farmer  was  likely  to  escape  the  imputation 
of  drunkenness,  on  the  present  occasion ; 
while,  at  the  same  time,  the  charge  was 
effectually  fastened  upon  his  gentlemanly 
clients,  whose  beverage  was  wine.  In  the 
course  of  his  defence,  he  became  extremely 
sharp  upon  the  old  farmer;  referred  to  his 
notorious  habits ;  and  spoke,  with  unsparing 
severity,  of  the  venders  and  partakers  of 
ardent  spirit.  When  the  prosecuting  officer 
had  closed  for  the  government,  the  old 
farmer  rose,  and  requested  permission  to  say 
a  few  words,  which  I  readily  granted. — 
'Please  your  honor,'  said  the  old  man, 
'  'Squire  Middleton  don't  think  worse  of 


228  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

ardent  spirits  than  I  do.  I  know  they've 
done  a  great  deal  of  mischief  in  the  world, 
and  perhaps  very  little  good,  if  any.  I  can 
go  into  the  graveyard  in  our  village,  and  put 
my  foot  agin  the  headstone  of  more  than  a 
hundred,  who,  in  the  course  of  nature,  might 
have  lived  as  long  as  I  have,  but  whom  rum 
has  carried  to  the  drunkard's  grave.  'Squire 
Middleton  isn't  more  in  favor  of  the  temper 
ance  cause  than  I  am.  I've  three  sons  and 
two  daughters.  I  made  all  five  on  'em  sign 
the  pledge.  I  advise  every  body  else  to  do 
the  same  thing.  Your  honor  wonders,  may 
be,  why  I  don't  sign  it  myself.  Please  your 
honor,  Fse  got  a  dreadful  strong  head.  I 
wouldn't  have  any  body  justify  himself  by 
my  example ;  for  I  never  met  the  man  that 
could  drink  as  I  can,  without  feeling  the 
effects  on't.  'Squire  Middleton's  a  great 
temperance  man,  please  your  honor,  and  he 
says  we  all  ought  to  leave  off,  if  it's  only  for 
the  sake  of  the  example  to  other  folks.  Your 
honor  sees  as  how  the  young  blades  was  all 
drunk,  though  'twas  only  on  wine ;  and  that 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  229 

1  wasn't  drunk,  though  I  never  denied  that 
I'd  taken  a  few  glasses  of  rum  and  water  that 
day.  Now,  Squire  Middleton  won't  deny,  I 
'spose,  that  rum  won't  make  some  folks 
drunk,  and  that  wine  will.  Please  your 
honor,  I  think  well  enough  of  the  'squire, 
and  am  sorry  he  seems  to  think  so  poorly 
of  me.  It'll  come  proper  hard  for  me  to 
give  up  spirit.  I've  used  it  more  than  fifty 
years.  Howsomever,  I'll  make  the  'squire 
an  offer  here  afore  the  court ;  —  I'll  give  up 
rum,  and  brandy,  and  gin,  and  the  like  of 
them  are,  if  the  'squire'll  give  up  wine,  and 
beer,  and  cider,  and  sich  as  they.  —  Come, 
'Squire  Middleton,  what  d'ye  say  to  that?' 
The  court-room  resounded  with  peals  of 
laughter,  which  the  officers  found  it  no  easy 
matter  to  suppress. 

"  '  It  is  somewhat  difficult,'  said  Mr.  Mid 
dleton,  as  we  met  in  the  evening, '  to  furnish  a 
sufficient  reply,  upon  the  spur  of  the  moment, 
to  such  an  unexpected  proposal  as  that,  which 
old  Barnicoat  tendered  tome  in  court  to-day.' 
- '  The  easiest  thing  in  the  world,'  I  re- 


230  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

plied.  —  'And  how  so?'  he  enquired. — 
'  Close  with  the  old  man's  proposition  at 
once,'  I  rejoined.  It  was  very  evident  that 
he  did  not  relish  my  suggestion,  and  the  con 
versation  soon  found  its  way  into  some  other 
channel. 

"  Not  long  after  this  occurrence,  the  friends 
of  the  temperance  cause,  perceiving,  as  they 
supposed,  the  insufficiency  of  the  pledge  of 
abstinence  from  ardent  spirits  alone,  began  to 
agitate  the  question  of  abstinence  from  all 
intoxicating  drinks.  Meetings  were  frequent 
ly  called,  for  the  purpose  of  discussing  this 
interesting  topic.  The  society,  of  which  Mr. 
Middleton  had  long  been  a  distinguished 
member,  adjourned  its  meetings  for  six  succes 
sive  evenings.  Mr.  Middleton  himself  argued 
against  the  extension  of  the  pledge,  with  more 
than  all  his  usual  zeal  and  ingenuity.  It  was 
nevertheless  decided,  by  an  overwhelming 
majority,  to  assume  higher  ground,  and  to 
adopt  the  pledge  of  abstinence  from  all  in 
toxicating  drinks.  Mr.  Middleton,  with  two 
or  three  others,  who  refused  to  sign  the  new 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  231 

pledge,  were  necessarily  excommunicated,  or 
rather  ceased  to  be  members  of  the  Temperance 
Society.  He  joined  in  the  common  cry,  that 
the  cause  of  temperance  was  at  an  end,  and 
that  the  ultraism  of  its  misguided  and  over- 
zealous  friends  had  brought  destruction  upon 
one  of  the  most  noble  of  all  human  under 
takings.  From  this  moment,  he  never  spoke 
of  the  cause,  nor  of  its  advocates,  without  an 
expression  of  disgust  and  even  bitterness. 

"  It  is  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone.  No 
one  is  more  sensible  of  this  profitable  truth, 
than  a  dissenter  from  those  opinions,  which 
are  acquiring  an  extensive  popularity.  His 
peculiar  sentiments  appear  too  valuable,  in  his 
own  estimation,  for  his  exclusive  enjoyment ; 
and  he  is  forever  uneasy,  unless  he  is  employed 
as  a  propagandist.  Truth  may  be  enjoyed 
by  its  happy  proprietor,  in  perfect  silence. 
Heresy  commonly  affords  little  pleasure,  un 
less  some  willing  ear  is  at  hand,  to  receive 
our  doubts  and  relieve  us  of  our  theories.  The 
Christian  is  happy  in  close  communion  with 
his  God.  The  infidel  is  ever  restless,  unless 


232  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

engaged  in  the  promulgation  of  his  unbelief. 
The  wine-drinking  members  of  old-fashioned 
temperance  societies,  are  commonly,  more  or 
less,  conscious  of  their  inconsistency.  There 
are  many  degrees  between  the  very  first  im 
pression  of  that  inconsistency,  vague  and  un 
defined  as  it  occasionally  is,  and  that  full 
conviction,  which  speedily  converts  the  mid 
way  temperance  man  into  a  tee-totaler. 
Private  reflection,  upon  this  interesting  topic, 
is  frequently  preferable  to  public  discussion. 
In  the  latter  course,  sides  are  to  be  taken,  and 
opinions  maintained.  Mr.  Middleton  had 
long  been  esteemed  a  social  and  convivial 
man.  During  the  discussion,  to  which  I  have 
referred,  it  was  not  to  be  expected,  that  either 
party  should  forbear  the  exhibition  of  any 
argument,  which  could  be  legitimately  brought 
to  bear  upon  the  question.  Frequent  allusion 
was  made  to  those  selfish  and  personal  mo 
tives,  which  governed  many,  who  were  un 
willing  to  extend  the  pledge.  Their  attach 
ment  for  the  bottle  became  a  subject  of 
considerable  mirth.  It  was  true,  upon  this,  as 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  233 

it  has  been  elsewhere,  upon  many  similar  occa 
sions,  that  almost  every  individual,  who  op 
posed  the  extension  of  the  temperance  pledge, 
was  in  the  habit  of  using  fermented  liquor,  with 
a  greater  or  less  degree  of  moderation.  No  one 
gave  stronger  evidence  of  personal  irritation 
than  Mr.  Middleton.  I  expressed  my  sur 
prise  to  an  old  friend,  as  we  were  leaving  the 
assembly  one  evening.  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  and  observed,  that  'Squire  Middleton 
drank  more  wine  than  was  good  for  him.  I 
was  greatly  shocked  by  this  remark ;  for  I 
had  never  suspected  before,  that  he  was  an 
intemperate  man. 

"  It  was  very  evident  to  me,  that  Mr. 
Middleton  had  lost  his  interest  in  the  temper 
ance  cause.  He  levied  the  most  open  and 
unrelenting  warfare  against  the  advocates  of 
total  abstinence,  and  devoted  a  large  amount 
of  his  leisure  moments  to  an  exposition  of  their 
madness  and  folly. 

"  My  position,  in  regard  to  this  young  gen 
tleman  and  his  wife,  gave  me  sufficient  au 
thority  for  directing  my  attention  more  closely 
20 


234  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

to  his  habits  of  life.  In  connection  with  the 
remark  of  my  old  friend,  I  recollected,  that, 
during  my  recent  visits  at  Mr.  Middleton's 
house,  I  had  noticed  some  indications  of 
anxiety  on  the  countenance  of  his  wife. 
They  did  not  appear  so  perfectly  happy  in 
each  other's  society  of  late,  and  I  began  to 
charge  myself  with  stupidity,  for  not  having 
been  more  forcibly  impressed  by  these  ap 
pearances.  The  next  morning,  I  called  at 
his  house  :  it  was  shortly  after  breakfast,  and 
he  had  already  gone  abroad.  Margaret  was 
walking  the  room  with  her  little  girl.  I  came 
rather  abruptly  into  the  apartment ;  and,  as 
I  entered,  I  heard  the  little  girl  exclaim. 
*  Don't  cry,  dear  mother.'  She  was  in  tears, 
and  turned  towards  the  window  to  conceal 
them.  I  took  her  hand,  and  affectionately 
inquired  after  the  cause  of  her  sorrow.  After 
some  hesitation  she  admitted,  that  her  hus 
band's  affairs  were  somewhat  embarrassed. 
1  And  is  this  the  only  occasion  of  your  tears  ? ' 
I  inquired.  '  I  cannot  bear,'  she  replied, '  to 
see  Mr.  Middleton  so  terribly  excited,  as  he 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  235 

often  is,  by  these  temperance  discussions.'  — 
6  And  pray/  said  I,  '  is  he  ever  excited  from 
any  other  cause  ? ?  —  She  gazed  at  me  intent 
ly  for  an  instant,  and  burst  into  tears.  The 
position,  in  which  I  stood  to  this  lady,  as  I 
have  already  stated,  warranted  the  freedom  of 
my  inquiry,  and  the  fulness  of  her  reply. 
She  frankly  told  me,  at  last,  that  she  was 
alarmed  for  the  consequences  of  his  habit  of 
indulgence ;  and  that,  although  he  never 
tasted  ardent  spirit  in  any  form,  his  free  use 
of  wine  and  other  fermented  liquors  had 
materially  affected  his  temper  and  lessened 
her  happiness.  She  informed  me,  that  her 
tears,  which  I  had  noticed  upon  my  first  arri 
val,  had  been  occasioned  by  a  sharp  repri 
mand  from  her  husband,  while  dissuading  him 
from  giving  a  dinner  party,  which  he  could 
not  afford.  She  added  that  it  was  settled, 
nevertheless,  against  her  counsel,  and  would 
take  place  the  ensuing  week.  She  said,  that 
her  husband  intended  to  invite  me,  and  I 
promised  to  accept  the  invitation.  I  offered 


236  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

such  counsel,  as  I  thought  adapted  to  her 
situation,  and  took  my  leave. 

"  Without  the  slightest  committal  of  Mr. 
Middleton's  reputation,  I  gave  a  fair  occasion 
to  others  to  speak  freely  of  his  habits  in  my 
hearing.  I  soon  discovered,  to  my  sorrow, 
that  he  had,  for  some  time,  been  accounted 
an  intemperate  man.  As  a  zealous  member 
of  the  temperance  society,  he  had  been 
placed  aloof  from  all  suspicion ;  and  the 
whole  common  sense  of  the  framers  of  the 
old-fashioned  temperance  pledge  seemed 
completely  to  negative  the  idea  of  intemper 
ance,  on  wine.  I  found,  that  a  very  common 
impression  prevailed  of  his  incompetency,  as 
a  business  man,  in  the  after-part  of  the  day  ; 
and  that  his  particular  case  was  very  generally 
cited  by  those,  who  desired  to  prove,  by 
example,  the  utter  insufficiency  of  the  pledge 
of  abstinence  from  ardent  spirits  alone. 

"  I  felt  it  to  be  my  duty  to  have  a  full  and 
frank  conversation  with  this  young  man.  I 
was  revolving  the  subject  in  my  thoughts,  and 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  237 

devising  the  most  suitable  plan  for  its  execu 
tion,  when  he  called  to  invite  me  to  dine  with 
the  Rev.  Dr.  Mockturtle,  our  new  clergyman, 
and  a  few  friends,  on  the  following  day.  1 
was  half  inclined  to  refuse,  or  to  accept  on 
condition  that  wine  should  not  be  introduced. 
On  further  reflection,  however,  I  decided  to 
accept  the  invitation,  and  seek  a  more  suita 
ble  opportunity  for  the  expression  of  my 
opinions.  The  impressions,  which  I  had 
recently  gathered  of  his  intemperate  habit, 
induced  me  to  regard  his  appearance  and 
manner  more  carefully  ;  and  I  noticed  in  his 
countenance  the  marks  and  numbers  of  dissi 
pation,  which  I  had  never  observed  before. 

"  When  I  entered  Mr.  Middleton's  parlor, 
upon  the  following  day,  I  found  the  guests 
already  assembled,  with  the  exception  of  our 
new  clergyman,  for  whom  the  entertainment 
was  made.  The  host  and  hostess  were,  from 
some  cause,  not  perfectly  at  ease.  An  illy- 
concealed  anxiety  was  too  plainly  visible 
upon  the  countenance  of  Mrs.  Middleton, 
which  it  was  painful  to  observe.  After  the 


238  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

lapse  of  half  an  hour,  the  door  opened,  and 
the  long-expected  guest  made  his  entree. 
The  Rev.  Paul  Mockturtle  was  about  five 
and  forty  years  of  age,  unusually  short,  round, 
and  rubicund.  He  was  evidently,  if  I  may 
so  express  myself,  a  man  for  both  worlds, 
having  no  intention  of  relaxing  his  hold  of 
the  present,  until  he  had  secured  a  firm  grasp 
upon  a  better.  I  never  looked  upon  a  face 
of  clay  in  which  the  muscles  were  so  wonder 
fully  pliable ;  nor  have  I  ever  seen  an  indi 
vidual,  whose  tones  of  voice  and  general  man 
ner  were  so  instantaneously  variable  —  valua 
ble  qualifications,  beyond  all  doubt,  for  an 
individual,  who  is  called,  at  one  moment,  to 
mourn  with  those  who  mourn,  and  the  very 
next,  to  rejoice  with  those  who  rejoice. 

"  We  were  soon  ushered  into  the  dining- 
parlor.  The  blessing  was  craved  most 
reverentially,  by  the  Rev.  Paul  Mockturtle ; 
and,  from  the  position  of  his  expanded  hands 
and  the  curvature  of  his  body,  it  seemed  to 
be  especially  bestowed  on  a  capacious  oyster- 
pie,  upon  which  he  subsequently  made  a 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  239 

lion's  repast,  whetting  his  appetite  with  an 
occasional  glass  of  wine,  and  clearing  his 
fauces  with  one  or  two  tumblers  of  London 
porter.  Nothing  could  be  done  in  a  more 
workmanlike  style.  Short  ejaculations  and 
brief  responses  now  and  then  interrupted  the 
work  of  consumption.  — '  Poor  Mrs.  Davidson 
has  lost  her  husband,  doctor/  said  Deacon 
Eldridge.  c  God  have  rnercy  upon  her/  cried 
the  doctor ;  c  a  few  more  oysters,  Mrs.  Middle- 
ton,  if  you  please.  Dear  me,  this  is  a  world 
of  sorrow  —  you  have  a  French  cook,  madam, 
no  doubt.' 

"  I  had  already  seen  and  heard  enough  to 
excite  my  contempt  for  our  new  clergyman. 
He  was  elected,  during  my  absence  in  a 
neighboring  state,  and  I  felt  some  little  satis 
faction  in  the  consciousness  of  rny  irresponsi 
bility  for  such  a  selection. 

"  The  cloth  was  removed,  and  the  wine 
began  to  circulate.  After  some  general  con 
versation,  a  remark  from  Deacon  Eldridge 
turned  the  attention  of  the  company  to  the 
subject  of  temperance.  I  was  not  sorry  for 


241)  THE    STAGE-COACH, 

this,  as  I  was  desirous  of  affording  our  new 
clergyman  an  opportunity  of  exhibiting  his 
sentiments.  c  Old  Anthony  Jones,  the  un 
dertaker,  is  dead/  said  Deacon  Eld  ridge.  — 
'  A  wretched  drunkard/  said  Mr.  Middleton 
— '  we  should  have  reformed  that  poor  fellow, 
if — fill  your  glass,  doctor, — if  it  had  not  been 
for  the  suicidal  conduct  of  our  Temperance 
Society  —  perhaps  you  prefer  the  Sherry, 
Deacon  Eldridge.' — c  Old  Anthony/  said 
Mr.  Snakeroot,  the  apothecary,  'was  eternal 
ly  drunk  with  beer;  he  didn't  take  much 
ardent  spirit.'  — c  Couldn't  be,  sir/  cried  Mr. 
Middleton;  'impossible  —  John,  some  clean 
glasses  and  the  old  Monteiro,  — c  no  man 
ever  became  a  drunkard,  a  real  drunkard,  on 
beer,  Mr.  Snakeroot.'  — '  Anthony  Jones  was 
a  terrible  drunkard,  Mr.  Middleton/  replied 
the  druggist.  — c  No  doubt  of  that,  sir ;  but  he 
drank  rum,  sir,  rum,  sir,  rum,  mm,  New 
England  rum ;  depend  upon  it  as  certainly  as 
your  name  is  Snakeroot.  There,  Doctor 
Mockturtle,  what  d'ye  say  to  that?'  —  *  Nec 
tar,  Mr.  Middleton,  nectar,  indeed  it  is;  but 


« 

THE    STAGE-COACH.  241 

your  Sh  —  Sherry  is  incomparably  fine;  did 
you  imp  —  ort  it  yourself? '  — c  Yes,  sir  — 
no,  sir,  not  exactly  the  Sherry — John,  open 
the  Champagne,  —  fill  the  doctor's  glass,  — 
Joly's  hrand,  my  dear  doctor.'  — i  Excellent, 
most  excellent,  my  very  dear  friend,'  cried  the 
doctor,  who  was  palpably  the  worse  for 
liquor.  — '  Dr.  Mockturtle,'  cried  Mr.  Hoogs, 
one  of  the  most  influential  members  of  our 
parish,  '  I  should  like  to  have  your  opinion  of 
the  Temperance  Society.'  —  (  Sir,'  replied  the 
doctor,  drawing  himself  up,  and  holding  fast 
upon  the  arms  of  his  chair,  and  turning  upon 
Hoogs  the  only  eye  which  was  entirely  open, 
'  it's  done  up,  sir, — dephlogisticated, — extinct, 
—  and  defunct,  body  and  spirit.  It's  all  over 
with  it  now,  sir.  It's  ultraism,  sir.  — Isn't  this 
a  good  creature  of  God  ?  that's  my  argument, 
sir,  —  the  glass  is  empty,  Mr.  Mid  —  Mid- 
dlington,  a  little  more,  if  you  are  agreeable,  sir. 
My  health  is  delicate,  sir,  and  I  follow  the  direc 
tion  of  the  apostle,  and  take  a  little  for  my  — 
my  stomach  ache  and  often  infirmities.  My 
learned  friend,  Dr.  Tweedles,  does  the  same 
81 


242  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

thing.  He  is  an  in  —  invaletudinarian,  and 
requires  it.  He  is  in  the  habit  of  taking 
a  little,  but  he  does  not  take  it  habitually. 
The  fanatics  have  set  no  bounds  to  their 
audacity.  Dr.  Tweedles  tells  me,  sir,  that  a 
member  of  his  society  had  the  impudence  to 
adulterate  the  communion  wine,  —  good,  old, 
strong-bodied  Madeira,  —  by  putting  spring 
water  into  it.  What  an  unhallowed  innova 
tion!' —  'You  don't  say  so,  doctor!'  cried 
Deacon  Eldridge,  holding  up  his  hands  and 
rolling  his  eyes  aloft  with  an  expression  of 
horror.  — c  Yes,  sir,'  replied  the  doctor,  '  I  do 
say  so?  —  it's  nothing  less  than  sacrilege,  sir.  — 
For  my  own  part  —  I'll  take  a  little  more  of 

the  Champagne,  if  you  please,  my  dear  sir 

I  was  going  to  observe  —  to  remark  that  a  — 
bless  me,  it's  gone  out  of  my  head  —  O  — 
ah  —  yes,  yes,  I've  got  it  —  I  was  going  to 
say  every  thing  done  by  our  blessed  Re 
deemer  was  sacred.  His  example  is  enough 
for  me.  I  make  it  a  point  to  take  wine  at 
weddings  always,  and  it  never  tastes  so  good, 
because  I  do  it  in  honor  of  my  Redeemer. 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  243 

Dr.  Tweedles  does  the  same  thing.'  —  <I 
always  do,'  said  Deacon  Eldridge.  — c  So  do 
V  said  Mr.  Hoogs.  Six  or  eight  of  the 
company  affirmed,  that  they  were  in  the  same 
habit.  — '  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,'  cried  Mr. 
Middleton,  who,  though  he  had  been  silent, 
had  not  been  idle  — '  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,' 
said  he,  with  an  excessively  flushed  and 
excited  countenance ;  '  it's  all  a  humbug  — 
I'm  sick  of  it,  and  by  —  I  beg  your  pardon, 
doctor.'  —  CO,  my  dear  friend,'  said  the 
doctor  in  a  sleepy  voice,  c  no  sort  of  occasion, 
I  assure  you.'  — c  Doctor  Mockturtle,'  con 
tinued  Mr.  Middleton,  'our  notions  corre 
spond  exactly,  and  I  am  rejoiced  that  you've  — 
fill  your  glass  —  that  you've  come  among  us. 
Was  there  ever  such  an  infernal  piece  of  non 
— nonsense  as  the  notion,  that  men  of  char 
acter  and  standing  can  get  drunk  on  good 
old  Madeira?'  — c  Never,  my  dear  friend,' 
replied  the  doctor,  '  never,  never.  Why  di 
mmish  our  com  —  comforts,  why  take  away 
our  innocent  rec — rec — recreations  ? '  — '  Sure 
enough,'  cried  two  or  three  of  the  company. 


244  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

c  These  temperance  folks  are  certainly  carry 
ing  matters  to  extremes/  said  Deacon  Eldridge ; 
c  pray,  judge/  continued  the  deacon,  turning 
to  me,  '  don't  you  think  they're  going  too  fast 
and  too  far? '  —  I  had  continued  almost  entirely 
silent  during  this  entertainment,  which  had 
afforded  any  thing  but  pleasure  to  me.  Mrs. 
Middleton  had  retired,  as  soon  as  the  com 
mon  courtesy  of  the  table  would  permit,  and 
I  had  remained  to  ascertain,  if  possible,  from 
the  carriage  of  her  husband,  the  nature  and 
extent  of  his  intemperate  habit.  I  was 
perfectly  convinced  from  all  that  I  saw,  in 
connection  with  all  that  I  had  heard,  that  his 
love  for  intoxicating  liquor  was  the  sin,  that 
most  easily  beset  him  ;  and  that,  unless  im 
mediately  vanquished,  it  would  inevitably 
bring  ruin  upon  himself,  and  misery  upon 
his  household.  I  perceived,  that  my  pres 
ence  was  embarrassing  to  Mr.  Middleton,  and 
I  was  upon  the  point  of  withdrawing,  when 
called  out  by  the  inquiry  of  Deacon  Eldridge. 
On  the  whole,  I  was  not  disposed  to  regret  so 
fair  an  occasion  for  expressing  those  opinions, 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  245 

which  my  position,  as  a  guest,  would  have 
prevented  me  from  obtruding  upon  such  a 
company.  *  Deacon  Eldridge,'  said  I,  in 
reply  to  his  interrogatory,  f  I  foresee  no  great 
danger  from  the  rapid  progress  of  the  reform 
ation.  Excesses,  if  such  there  are,  will 
probably  correct  themselves.  You  well 
know  my  opinions,  deacon  ;  they  are  those 
of  a  cold-water  man.' — These  last  words 
seemed  to  awaken  Dr.  Mockturtle  from  the 
lethargy,  which  had  been  evidently  getting 
the  better  of  his  energies  for  some  time  past. 
It  had  never  occurred  to  him,  in  all  probabil 
ity,  that  any  diversity  of  opinion,  upon  the 
subject  before  us,  existed  among  the  guests 
who  were  present ;  and  he  had  been  too 
seriously  occupied  with  his  own  operations,  to 
pay  any  very  particular  attention  to  the  pro 
ceedings  of  his  neighbors.  He  was  evidently 
surprised,  that  any  person  should  have  the 
hardihood  to  avow  himself  a  cold-water  man 
before  an  assembly,  in  which  every  other 
individual  had  furnished  such  abundant  evi 
dence,  that  he  was  not.  He  turned  toward 


246  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

me  with  perfect  astonishment.  I  cannot  say, 
that  he  lifted  the  light  of  his  countenance 
upon  me,  for  every  spark  of  intelligence  was 
utterly  extinguished.  —  CI  am  a  cold-water 
man,  deacon,  as  you  well  know,'  continued  I. 
4  Water  is  a  safe  and  a  salutary  beverage ;  we 
have  sufficient  reason  to  believe,  that  wine  is 
neither.  I  will  avail  of  this  occasion  to  bear 
my  testimony,  for  all  that  it  is  worth,  against 
some  wild  opinions,  as  I  deem  them,  which  I 
have  heard  to-day.  It  is  easier,  I  conceive,  to 
follow  our  blessed  Redeemer's  example  in 
some  things  than  in  others  ;  it  is  a  pleasanter 
employment,  perhaps,  to  drink  wine,  at  a  wed 
ding,  in  commemoration  of  his  example  at 
Cana,  than  to  bear  a  splinter  of  the  cross,  in 
testimony  of  our  gratitude  for  all  he  suffered 
for  mankind  on  Calvary.  Jesus  Christ  never 
commanded  that  we  should  drink  wine  upon 
such  convivial  occasions  as  these;  yet  he 
certainly  forbade  surfeiting  and  drunkenness. 
If  drunkenness  had  not  existed,  he  would  not 
have  forbidden  it.  Fermented  liquors  were 
then  the  only  beverages,  by  which  drunken- 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  247 

ness  could  be  produced.  It  is  therefore  absurd 
to  contend,  that  wine,  even  when  unenforced 
with  brandy,  is  insufficient  for  the  production 
of  drunkenness.  It  is  not  less  irrational  to 
assert,  that  the  addition  of  water  is  an  adul 
teration  of  communion  wine,*  however  pure 
that  wine  may  be ;  and  this  remark  is  still 
more  just,  if  the  communion  wine  be  such  as 
is  commonly  employed  and  enforced  with 
brandy,  for  such  wine  was  unknown  when 
Jesus  Christ  was  upon  the  earth.'  Having 
made  these  remarks,  I  took  my  leave,  and 
returned  home  with  many  sad  forebodings,  in 
relation  to  the  future  prospects  of  poor  Mtd- 
dleton  and  his  unhappy  family. 

"  It  had  been  my  intention  to  seek  the  first 
fitting  opportunity,  for  a  solemn  conversation 
with  Mr.  Middleton,  on  the  subject  of  his 
habit.  Impressions,  produced  at  the  late  in 
terview,  tended  to  dissuade  rne  from  the 
execution  of  this  design.  I  had  ascertained, 
that  both  his  brothers  had  become  members 

*  See  Appendix. 


248  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

of  the  new  society,  and  signed  the  pledge  of 
abstinence  from  all  intoxicating  drinks.  At 
a  temperance  convention,  recently  assembled 
in  a  neighboring  county,  Geoffrey  Middleton, 
the  elder  brother,  who  was  a  man  of  strong 
natural  understanding,  had  distinguished  him 
self,  by  making,  in  his  plain  way,  one  of  the 
most  argumentative  and  affecting  addresses, 
that  I  have  ever  heard,  in  favor  of  the  com 
prehensive  pledge.  It  occurred  to  me,  that 
my  object  would  be  most  likely  to  be  accom 
plished,  through  the  instrumentality  of  this 
elder  brother.  About  a  week  from  this  time, 
I  had  occasion  to  pass  through  the  village,  in 
which  he  resided,  and  called  at  his  farm-house. 
I  stated  my  fears,  in  relation  to  his  brother, 
without  any  reserve  ;  and  suggested,  that,  pos 
sibly,  exhortation  and  argument,  from  the  lips 
of  a  brother,  might  avail,  which  would  fall  inef 
fectually  from  those  of  any  other  man.  — i  Do 
go,  Geoffrey,'  said  his  wife  ;  c  we  owe  every 
thing  to  Arthur/  —  '  I  know  it,'  said  Geoffrey, 
as  his  lip  quivered  arid  the  tear  came  into 
his  eye.  c  I'll  go,  judge/  continued  he,  '  if 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  249 

you'll  go  along  with  me  and  bear  me  out 
Arthur's  a  tonguey  man,  judge,  and  I  should 
feel  badly,  if  I  couldn't  make  the  whole  truth 
plain  for  the  want  of  words.  We  made  an 
arrangement  to  visit  Arthur  Middleton  together, 
on  the  following  Monday.  Before  we  parted, 
I  apprized  his  brother  Geoffrey  of  all  the 
circumstances  in  Arthur's  situation,  which  had 
come  to  my  knowledge,  —  his  pecuniary  em 
barrassment, —  the  extent  of  his  habit,  —  the 
undesirable  reputation,  which  it  had  already 
acquired  for  him ;  to  all  which  he  listened 
with  evident  surprise  and  sorrow. 

"  At  the  appointed  hour,  on  the  following 
Monday,  Geoffrey  Middleton  arrived  at  my 
door,  in  company  with  his  brother  John.  c  I've 
brought  brother  John  with  me,  judge,'  said  he, 
as  he  entered  my  study ;  '  I've  been  thinking 
he  might  put  in  a  word  now  and  then.  John 
is  about  as  much  indebted  to  Arthur,  as  I  am 
myself,  and  has  as  much  interest  in  this  mat 
ter  as  I  have ;  and,  as  he  was  entirely  willing 
to  go  with  us,  I  thought  I  would  bring  him 


250  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

over,  and  take  your  advice  about  it.' — I 
knew  the  character  of  John  Middleton  very 
thoroughly.  He  was  a  man  of  good  common 
sense,  but  decidedly  inferior  to  Geoffrey  in 
point  of  talent.  The  natural  impulses  of  his 
heart  were  more  impetuous  ;  he  was  not  much 
older  than  Arthur;  and,  having  been  more 
closely  associated  with  him  as  the  companion 
of  his  earlier  years,  he  cherished  towards  him 
very  naturally  a  much  warmer  attachment. 
Both  Geoffrey  and  John,  subsequently  to  their 
reformation,  had  expressed,  in  my  hearing, 
their  grateful  sense  of  their  younger  brother's 
efforts  in  bringing  it  about.  Upon  such 
occasions,  Geoffrey  was  always  perfectly  col 
lected,  and  gave  a  clear  account  of  his  former 
state,  contrasting  it,  in  the  happiest  manner, 
with  his  present  condition  ;  and  bestowing  the 
full  measure  of  grateful  praise  upon  his  brother 
Arthur.  John's  heart  was  always  too  full  for 
such  a  calm,  collected  narrative ;  and,  before 
he  had  relieved  himself  of  one  half  of  all  he 
had  to  say,  his  voice  choked,  his  eyes  filled 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  251 

with  tears,  and  all  he  could  utter,  as  he  held 
my  hand  in  his  own  convulsive  grasp,  was, 
c  O,  judge,  —  I  can't  talk  about  it.' 

"  I  told  John,  that  I  was  persuaded  his 
presence  would  be  beneficial.  I  informed 
them  both  of  such  facts,  as  had  recently  come 
to  my  knowledge.  At  the  close  of  the  en 
tertainment,  of  which  I  have  given  a  descrip 
tion,  the  Rev.  Paul  Mockturtle  was  put  to 
bed  at  Mr.  Middleton's,  being  utterly  unable 
to  seek  his  own  lodgings.  Mr.  Middleton 
himself  was  unable  to  reach  his  own  chamber 
without  assistance,  or  to  come  abroad  during 
the  two  succeeding  days.  I  also  ascertained, 
that  his  pecuniary  affairs  were  in  a  much 
worse  condition,  than  I  had  ever  imagined. 

"  After  some  little  discussion,  in  regard  to 
our  plan  of  operation,  we  proceeded  to  Mr. 
Middleton's  residence.  The  domestic  in 
formed  us  at  the  door,  that  Mr.  Middleton 
was  particularly  engaged.  I  requested  to  see 
his  wife,  who  came  down  to  us  in  great  agi 
tation,  with  the  intelligence  that  their  furniture 
had  been  attached  that  morning,  by  the  sher- 


252  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

iff,  who  was  then  with  her  husband  in  the 
parlor.  c  What  shall  be  done  ? '  inquired 
Geoffrey  Middleton.  —  '  I  guess  we  can  pay 
off  the  debt  between  us,  Geoffrey/  said  John. 
—  I  desired  the  sheriff  to  be  told,  that  a  gen 
tleman  wished  to  see  him  at  the  door.  He 
immediately  came  to  us.  I  looked  at  the 
writ ;  it  was  at  the  suit  of  J.  J.  Jaffier,  a 
French  wine-merchant  ;  the  action  was 
brought  to  recover  the  value  of  a  quarter- 
cask  of  Sherry,  and  six  hampers  of  Champagne. 
We  gave  our  personal  responsibility  to  the 
officer,  who  released  the  furniture,  and  took 
his  leave.  We  entered  the  parlor  with  Mrs. 
Middleton,  where  we  found  her  husband, 
walking  the  apartment  with  hasty  strides. 
He  had  evidently  expected  the  officer's  re 
turn,  and  was  greatly  surprised  by  our  ap 
pearance,  and  painfully  embarrassed  by  our 
visit,  at  such  an  unlucky  moment.  c  Where 
is  the  sheriff? '  he  inquired  of  Mrs.  Middle- 
ton,  in  an  under  tone.  — c  He  is  gone/  she  re 
plied  ;  <  our  good  friends  here — '  — '  I  thought 
so/  he  quickly  rejoined,  as  the  tears  filled  his 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  253 

eyes ;  '  this  is  very  kind  of  you.'  — c  Pshaw, 
Arthur,'  cried  John,  as  he  clapped  him  on 
the  shoulder,  '  what  is  such  a  trifle,  compared 
with  what  you  have  done  for  us  ? '  — c  But 
how  strange  !  —  What  conducted  you  all  here 
at  this  particular  juncture  ? '  — e  We  have 
come,  my  young  friend/  said  I,  '  as  I  devout 
ly  trust,  the  ministers  of  good  to  you  and 
yours.'  — c  We  have  come,'  said  Geoffrey 
Middleton,  c  to  make  a  small  return  for  all 
your  inestimable  kindness  to  us  and  ours.' — 
c  There  is  some  mystery  in  all  this,  which 
I  cannot  comprehend,'  said  he.  — c  Brother 
Arthur,'  said  John,  '  we  promised,  upon  your 
earnest  request,  to  give  up  ardent  spirit ;  we 
have  done  so,  and  we  shall  never  cease  to 
bless  God,  who  has  enabled  us  to  keep  our 
promise  thus  far.  Now,  we  want  you  to  make 
us  a  promise  in  return,  that  you  will  give  up 
fermented  liquors  and  all  other  intoxicating 
drinks.'  —  'Pray  tell  me,'  said  he,  with  no 
little  evidence  of  excitement  in  his  voice  and 
manner,  c  if  you  have  all  come  to  me  upon 
this  formal  embassy.'  —  c  We  have,  brother 


254  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

Arthur,  replied  Geoffrey,  with  perfect  com 
posure.  — f  We  have  consulted  together,  and 
have  resolved,  that  it  was  our  duty  to  do  so, 
and  that  your  future  happiness,  and  that  of 
your  family,  required  of  you  the  entire  aban 
donment  of  intoxicating  liquors.'  — '  Gracious 
Heaven  ! '  he  exclaimed,  rising  suddenly  from 
his  chair,  and  walking  across  the  apartment, 
c  has  it  come  to  this  !  Am  I  in  any  danger 
of  becoming  an  intemperate  man  ?  Perhaps/ 
added  he  with  a  sneer,  '  you  have  made  up 
your  minds,  that  I  shall  die  a  drunkard.  — 
Possibly,  according  to  the  ultra  constructions 
of  modern  fanatics,  you  consider  me  a  drunk 
ard  already  !  Your  motives  are  entitled  to 
t  my  respect,  but  you  must  forgive  me  for  ex 
pressing  my  astonishment  at  such  an  appli 
cation  from  you,  Geoffrey,  or  from  you,  broth 
er  John.' — '  Arthur/  said  Geoffrey,  after  a 
short  pause,  £  who,  of  all  mankind,  can  address 
you  with  greater  propriety  upon  this  deeply- 
interesting  subject  than  ourselves  ?  We  have 
been  drunkards  ;  and,  had  you  not  come,  like 
an  angel  of  mercy,  to  the  rescue,  we  should 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  255 

have  been  drunkards  still ;  our  wives  would 
still  have  continued  the  trembling  slaves  of 
two  drunken,  ungovernable  tyrants  ;  our  chil 
dren  would  still  have  hid  in  holes  and  corners 
at  our  coming.  — But  it  is  not  so  ;  your  ef 
forts  have  been  blessed  ;  we  have  abandoned 
our  evil  habits  ;  our  wives  and  our  little  ones 
are  happy.  For  all  this,  we  owe  a  debt  of 
gratitude  somewhere  ;  and,  under  Providence, 
we  owe  it  to  you.'  — '  Really,  brother  Geof 
frey,'  cried  Arthur  Middleton,  with  an  air  of 
affected  vivacity,  c  you  have  learned  to  play 
the  orator.'  —  *  I  have  learned  to  seek  the 
truth,'  replied  the  elder  brother,  c  without  any 
fear,  but  the  fear  of  God  ;  and,  if  it  lies  where 
it  is  said  to  lie,  at  the  bottom  of  the  well,  I'm 
not  a  going  to  flatter  myself  that  I  have  found 
it,  when  I  am  only  half  way  there.'  — e  Well, 
Geoffrey,'  said  Arthur,  c  when  I  drink  ardent 
spirit,  it  will  be  very  just  and  right  for  you  to 
lecture,  and  for  me  to  listen  ;  but,  as  it  is,  I 
give  you  my  word,  there  is  no  possible  danger 
of  that  result.'  — '  Arthur,'  rejoined  the  other, 


256  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

c  experience  is  better  than  theory.  When  I 
was  twelve  years  old,  the  very  year  you  was 
born,  I  told  our  father  he  lied,  for  which  I 
merited  a  severe  flogging,  and  I  got  my  deserts 
with  interest.  I  have  asked  myself,  a  thou 
sand  times,  how  I  came  to  say  such  an  outra 
geous  thing  to  our  good  old  father,  and  my 
conscience  has  always  given  me  a  ready  an 
swer :  I  was  drunk,  —  drunk  with  fermented 
drink,  —  drunk  with  cider.  Neighbor  Faulk 
ner's  cider-mill  had  been  at  work  for  several 
days,  and  I  had  drunk,  till  I  lost  all  re 
spect  for  myself  and  for  every  body  else.  I 
have  often  thought  of  father's  words,  when 
he  took  me  alone,  the  next  day.  "  Cider," 
said  he,  "  is  the  first  letter  in  the  drunkard's 
alphabet,  and  raw  rum  is  the  last ;  if  you  go 
on  as  you've  begun,  you'll  soon  learn  from  A 
to  Z  ;  and,  with  the  assistance  of  your  school 
master,  the  devil,  you'll  be  able,  in  a  short 
time,  to  spell  out  DESTRUCTION."  Now,  if  there 
is  any  thing  fanatical  in  the  views  of  those, 
who  are  for  total  abstinence  from  all  intoxica- 

* 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  257 

ting  liquors  at  the  present  day,  our  father's 
notions  were  just  as  fanatical,  long  before  you 
or  I  ever  heard  of  a  temperance  society.' 

"  Geoffrey's  argument  was  unanswerable. 
Arthur  said  not  a  word,  but  appeared  to  be 
meditating  a  reply.  The  countenance  of 
Mrs.  Middleton,  anxious  and  pale,  —  save  that 
circumscribed  flush,  which  tells  of  any  thing 
but  health  and  many  years,  —  was  lighted  up 
with  an  unwonted  smile,  as  she  listened  to 
these  words  of  truth  and  soberness,  and 
looked  hopefully  upon  the  features  of  her 
husband  for  some  testimony  of  their  happy 
effect. 

"  '  I  don't  pretend  to  know  as  many  things 
as  you  do,  brother  Arthur,'  said  John,  l  but  I 
believe,  as  truly  as  I  believe  any  thing,  that  I 
should  never  have  been  a  drunkard,  if  I 
hadn't  begun  with  beer.  Ardent  spirit  used 
to  be  very  disagreeable  to  me,  till  I  was  past 
nineteen.  When  I  lived  with  Mr.  Paradise, 
the  brewer,  the  boys  had  plenty  of  beer; 
and,  when  I  left  him,  and  went  where  beer 
was  not  set  before  us,  I  found  my  mouth  was 

23 


258  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

quite  out  of  taste  for  water.  Any  thing 
tasted  better  than  water;  —  a  little  rum,  or 
gin,  or  brandy,  gave  it  a  very  agreeable 
flavor;  —  and  so  I  went  on  increasing  the 
quantity,  till  I  became  what  I  was.' 

" l  Let  me  ask  one  question/  said  Arthur 
Middleton,  with  the  confident  air  of  one,  who 
has  not  the  shadow  of  a  doubt,  that  the 
response  will  be  entirely  in  his  favor,  — '  let 
me  ask,  if  either  of  you  ever  saw  me  the 
worse  for  liquor,  or  heard  of  such  a  thing  in 
your  lives?'  —  Geoffrey  and  John  turned 
their  countenances  upon  me,  and  Mrs.  Mid 
dleton  cast  her  eyes  upon  the  floor.  I  per 
ceived  it  was  my  duty  to  speak,  and  to  speak 
frankly.  — ' My  young  friend,'  said  I,  'when 
I  tell  you,  that  the  visit  you  are  now  receiving 
from  your  brothers  was  concerted  by  me,  you 
will  believe  that  I  entirely  concur  with  them 
in  their  solicitation.  We  all  urge  you  to 
resign  every  species  of  intoxicating  drink ; 
and  we  certainly  think  we  have  good  reasons 
for  the  course  we  have  adopted.  You  have 
put  a  direct  question,  which  is  entitled  to  an 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  259 

honest  reply.  Habits  are  insidious;  and 
they  are  commonly  manifested  to  those  about 
us,  at  an  earlier  period  than  we  imagine. 
They  are  frequently  apparent  to  others, 
before  we  ourselves  are  conscious  of  their 
existence.  It  is  with  the  deepest  regret,  that 
I  assure  you  of  the  fact, — you  have  acquired 
the  reputation  of  an  intemperate  man.'  —  If 
a  skilful  physician  had  affirmed  that  the 
plague  had  fastened  upon  his  body,  he  could 
not  have  been  more  completely  overthrown. 
He  stared  upon  me  with  wild  amazement ;  — 
poor  Margaret  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears,  and 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  — c  I  am  grieved 
to  give  pain/  continued  I,  '  but  I  am  bound, 
by  many  considerations,  as  you  well  know,  to 
be  explicit.  You  ask  if  we,  or  either  of  us, 
ever  knew  you  to  be  the  worse  for  liquor,  or 
heard  of  such  a  thing.  Men,  who  love  and 
desire  to  respect  you,  men  of  years  and  high 
standing,  have  told  me,  that  an  impression 
had  long  since  gone  abroad,  that  you  were 
unfitted  for  professional  business  in  the  after 
noon.  The  docket,  which  is  before  me  at 


260  THE    STAGE-COACH, 

every  term,  has  indicated,  for  the  last  three 
years,  an  extraordinary  declension  of  your 
business.  Your  furniture  was  attached  this 
morning  by  a  wine-merchant.  Your  personal 
appearance,  —  the  loss,  in  some  considerable 
degree,  of  your  good  looks,  —  has  become  a 
subject  for  remark  among  your  acquaintances. 
Your  case  is  also  frequently  cited,  as  I  am 
informed,  by  those,  who  are  desirous  of 
proving,  by  forcible  example,  the  insufficiency 
of  the  old-fashioned  temperance  pledge.  Now, 
it  is  apparent,  that  any  individual,  so  circum 
stanced  in  every  respect,  is  decidedly  the 
worse  for  liquor,  in  mind,  body,  and  estate .' 
— '  Sir,'  said  he,  with  something  like  asperity, 
'  I  see  how  it  is ;  —  I  have  long  thought  it 
might  be  well  for  me  to  try  my  fortune  and 
seek  for  friends  elsewhere.'  — '  You  will  seek 
in  vain  elsewhere,'  said  I,  '  for  better  friends, 
than  are  now  gathered  around  you.  Your 
course  is  a  plain  one ;  —  sign  the  pledge  of 
total  abstinence  at  once  ;  resume  your  position 
as  a  distinguished  leader  among  the  advocates 
of  this  holy  cause ;  and  live  down  this  evil 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  261 

reputation,  which  is  gathering  about  yon. 
Depend  upon  it3  my  dear  young  friend,  your 
clients  will  return,  your  days  will  be  brighter, 
and  yours  will  be  again  the  happy  fireside 
that  it  was,  when  Margaret  first  exchanged  a 
fond  father's  roof  for  your  own.'  —  (l  wish 
the  voice  of  our  father  and  mother  could 
speak  from  their  graves,'  said  Geoffrey  Mid- 
dleton.  — '  Do  sign  the  pledge,  dear  brother/ 
cried  John,  as  he  sprang  from  his  chair,  and 
seized  Arthur  by  the  hand.  —  Margaret  had 
risen  from  her  seat,  and  was  standing  by  his 
side,  with  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder. ^-c  My 
dear  husband,'  said  she,  —  the  tears,  that 
choked  her  utterance,  fell  fast  upon  his 
bosom.  At  length  he  rose,  and  with  vehe 
mence  exclaimed,  that  he  was  pledged 
already,  —  that  he  had  sworn  most  solemnly, 
and  upon  many  occasions,  that  he  would 
never  sign  the  pledge  of  total  abstinence 
from  all  intoxicating  drinks,  nor  put  it  in  the 
power  of  the  fanatics  to  say  he  had  relin 
quished  the  use  of  fermented  liquors. 

"We   urged   upon   his   consideration,   the 


262  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

utter  emptiness  of  all  such  rash  and  senseless 
vows,  and  pressed  him,  in  the  most  earnest 
and  affectionate  manner,  with  every  species 
of  argument,  which  seemed  likely  to  operate 
upon  his  head  and  heart.  It  was  all  in  vain, 
He  remained  fixed  and  unchangeable ;  and, 
after  an  interview  of  more  than  two  hours, 
we  were  compelled  to  relinquish  our  task,  as 
apparently  impracticable  by  man.  He  con 
tinued  in  his  old  habit ;  his  health,  especially 
the  digestive  function,  became  impaired ;  his 
business  declined ;  embarrassment  gathered 
rapidly  about  him ;  his  temper  became  ir 
ritable  ;  and  his  disposition  appeared  to 
lose  almost  the  whole  of  that  natural  frank 
ness,  which,  at  the  age  of  twenty-one,  had 
rendered  Arthur  Middleton  an  object  of 
universal  admiration  and  esteem.  From  the 
period  of  our  late  interview,  he  assumed, 
towards  his  very  best  friends,  a  more  cold  and 
formal  carriage.  His  very  look  and  manner 
seemed  distinctly  to  proclaim  his  fixed  resolve, 
to  hear  nothing  further  upon  a  certain  subject. 
Nothing  seemed  left,  for  a  Christian  friend, 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  263 

but  to  remember  him  most  earnestly  in 
prayer,  and,  in  all  possible  ways,  to  meliorate 
the  condition  of  his  unhappy  family. 

"  His  habit  of  intemperance  was  unques 
tionably,  in  its  commencement,  a  social  vice. 
As  it  became  more  absorbing  in  its  character, 
more  imperative  in  its  demands,  one  after 
another,  his  old  associates  began  to  break 
away  from  his  society.  A  few  still  gathered 
together,  with  whom  the  festive  qualities  of 
wine  were  of  little  moment,  compared  with 
its  magic  power  of  balancing  accounts  ;  of 
smothering  care  beneath  its  mantle  of  oblivion  ; 
of  hiding  the  neglected  wife,  and  the  group 
of  starving  little  ones,  from  the  profligate 
husband  and  apostate  father.  At  length,  it 
happened  to  Arthur  Middleton,  as  it  has 
happened  to  many  others,  that  he  could  sit  and 
drink,  glass  after  glass,  —  and  all  alone,  —  till 
the  waning  afternoon  left  him  too  little  space 
for  any  profitable  occupation  at  his  office,  and 
persuaded  him  to  finish  his  second  bottle  of 
Port  or  Madeira,  before  that  insipid  hour,  — 
in  the  tippler's  estimation,  —  the  hour  for  tea. 

y 


.*.: 


254  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

ci  Among  Mr.  Middleton's  bottle-corn pan- 
icns,  there  was  probably  not  one,  who,  like 
himself,  had  scrupulously  abstained  from  the 
use  of  ardent  spirits.  I  have  been  repeated 
ly  assured,  that,  to  the  very  last,  he  held 
them  and  their  employment  in  abhorrence. 

"  About  four  months  after  our  unsuccessful 
effort  to  correct  his  intemperate  habit,  I  had 
passed  the  last  hour  of  the  afternoon  with 
Mrs.  Middleton.  When  I  inquired  after  her 
husband  and  Elinor,  their  only  child,  she 
told  me  he  had  gone,  that  day,  to  dine  with 
Major  McBride,  in  the  country ;  and,  against 
her  judgment,  had  taken  Elinor  with  him  in 
the  gig,  but  had  promised  to  bring  her  home 
before  tea.  This  Major  McBride  was  a 
miserable  fellow,  a  bad  husband  and  father, 
and  an  intemperate  man.  Mrs.  Middleton's 
manifest  anxiety  was  occasioned,  in  part,  by 
her  knowledge  of  these  facts.  After  waiting 
more  than  an  hour  for  their  return,  we  took 
our  places  at  the  table.  It  was  a  chill 
autumnal  evening,  and  snow  had  begun  to 
fall.  We  sat  in  silence  for  some  time. — 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  265 

*  You  seem  ill,'  said  I ;  *  perhaps  you  will 
feel  better  if  you  sip  a  little  tea.'  —  <  Really,' 
she  replied,  <  I  have  no  appetite.  I  am  very 
anxious  about  Mr.  Middleton  and  Elinor, 
She  has  been  very  ill  of  late.'  —  I  said  every 
thing,  which  suggested  itself  to  my  mind,  in 
the  shape  of  comfort  and  encouragement. 
The  time  passed  wearily  enough.  Hours 
rolled  slowly  away,  and  it  was  nearly  eleven, 
when  we  heard  a  vehicle  stop  at  the  door.  I 
rose  and  opened  it  myself.  I  saw  nothing 
but  a  butcher's  cart.  — '  Pray,'  said  I  to  the 
driver,  who  had  already  alighted,  '  have  you 
seen  any  thing  of  Mr.  Middleton?'  — (  Yes, 
sir,'  he  replied,  in  an  under  tone,  ;  he's  in  rny 
cart,  —  met  with  a  pretty  bad  accident.'  — 
'  Where  is  the  young  lady  ?'  said  I,  impatient 
ly. —  *I  can't  tell  you,  sir;  —  I  only  know, 
that  I  saw  a  chaise  dashed  to  pieces,  about 
three  miles  out  of  town  ;  and,  while  I  was 
looking  at  it,  two  gentlemen  —  one  called 
the  other  Doctor  Jones  —  asked  me,  if  I 
knew  where  'Squire  Middleton  lived.  I  told 
'em  I  did,  and  then  they  brought  him  out 
23 


266  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

of  the  house,  and  got  me  to  bring  him  home.' 
— c  And  why  does  he  not  get  out  of  your 
wagon  ? '  said  I.  —  '  Why,  I  guess  he  can't 
very  well,'  replied  the  man,  *  without  a  little 
help.'  —  During  this  conversation,  which  was 
carried  on  in  a  low  voice,  Mrs.  Middleton, 
oppressed  with  a  fear  of  some  undefined 
tidings  of  evil,  had  not  quitted  the  apartment, 
but,  falling  upon  her  knees,  had  thrown 
herself  upon  the  mercy  of  her  God.  —  Mr. 
Middleton  was  speedily  removed  from  the 
wagon.  He  could  not  stand.  I  supported 
him  to  the  parlor  door,  and,  attempting  to 
walk,  he  fell  prostrate  upon  the  carpet.  His 
poor  wife  sprang  to  his  assistance,  —  we 
placed  him  in  a  chair.  — c  Arthur,'  said  she, 
in  an  agonized  tone,  which  I  can  never 
forget,  <  what  is  the  matter  ?  —  where  is 
Elinor?'  —  He  made  no  reply.  —  'Mr.  Mid 
dleton,'  said  I,  speaking  in  a  clear  voice,  and 
directly  in  his  ear,  c  what  has  befallen  you  ? 
where  is  your  daughter?  where  is  Elinor?' 
—  He  uttered  an  inarticulate  sound,  and 
shook  his  head.  He  was  drunk,  —  utterly 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  267 

drunk.  I  might  as  well  have  demanded  a 
response  from  the  dumb  beast  of  the  field.  — 
I  turned  to  request  Mrs.  Middleton  to  call  a 
servant,  that  we  might  bear  her  husband  to 
his  chamber;  —  the  tempest  in  a  mother's 
bosom  had  already  done  its  work;  —  she  had 
swooned  upon  the  floor.  —  I  summoned  the 
domestic.  After  the  usual  appliances,  the 
poor  sufferer  was  apparently  restored  to  her 
senses.  — '  I  am  rejoiced  to  see  you  more 
calm,'  said  I.  —  She  turned  upon  me,  with 
the  same  sweet  smile,  that  used  to  beam 
upon  her  lovely  features  when  a  girl.  I  had 
not  seen  it  for  years.  It  had  been  lost  amid 
the  cares  and  anxieties  of  life.  It  cut  me  to 
the  soul,  —  it  was  so  strange  and  ill-timed. 
— c  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Margaret?' 
said  I,  taking  her  hand,  and  looking  steadfast 
ly  upon  her.  —  'Elinor  is  dead!'  said  she. 
— c  Drive  such  thoughts  from  your  imagina 
tion,'  said  I,  £  if  you  value  your  own  peace 
and  mine.'  —  She  threw  her  arms  about  my 
neck,  and,  with  the  same  unchanged  expres 
sion,  —  the  same  sweet  smile,  —  whispered  in 


268  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

my  ear,  '  We  will  not  have  any  funeral,  but 
you  and  I  will  dig  her  grave  in  her  little 
garden,  before  the  snow  covers  the  ground  ; — 
come  with  me  now/  said  she,  rising  from  her 
chair.  —  I  perceived  that  her  reason  was 
shattered,  —  perhaps  gone  forever. 

"  With  the  assistance  of  a  kind  neighbor, 
Mr.  Middleton  was  borne  to  his  apartment. 
A  physician  was  soon  called  to  prescribe  for 
his  unhappy  wife,  and  I  had  despatched  a 
messenger,  to  gather,  if  possible,  some  tidings 
of  Elinor.  The  physician  was  soon  in  at 
tendance,  and  proclaimed,  that,  although  man 
ifestly  intoxicated,  Mr.  Middleton  had  received 
a  severe  blow  on  the  left  temple." 

"  Pray,  mynheer,"  said  the  old  Dutchman, 
who  was  exceedingly  affected,  "  vas  dere  much 
harm  to  de  poor  young  lady  ?  "  —  "  While 
the  family  physician,"  continued  the  elderly 
gentleman,  "  was  engaged  above  stairs,  I  re 
mained  below,  waiting  the  return  of  the  mes 
senger,  whom  I  had  despatched.  It  was  after 
twelve  o'clock,  when  I  heard  a  gentle  knock  at 
the  outer  door.  I  opened  it  myself,  and  a  gen- 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  269 

tlenian  entered,  who  introduced  himself  as  Dr. 
Jones.  —  <I  believe,  sir,'  said  he,  '  that  I 
am  in  the  house  of  Mr.  Middleton.'  c  Yes, 
sir,'  said  I ;  '  I  heard  your  name  from  the 
person,  who  brought  him  home  a  few  hours 
since,  and  beseech  you  to  give  me  tidings,  if 
you  can,  of  his  daughter.'  — f  Sir,'  said  he, 
*  I  am  the  messenger  of  evil.  I  know  noth 
ing  of  the  relation  between  Mr.  Middleton  and 
the  young  lady,  whose  body  now  lies  at  my 
house  ;  but  — '  — c  She  is  dead,  then  ! '  I  ex 
claimed. —  *  I  am  grieved,'  he  replied,  '  to 
say  it  is  even  so.  —  I  perceive,  sir,  from  your 
emotion,  that  you  have  a  deep  interest  in  this 
event,  and  will  recount  all  that  I  know  of  it. 
About  nine  in  the  evening,  a  neighbor  came 
to  me  in  haste,  with  intelligence,  that  two 
persons  had  been  thrown  from  a  chaise,  near 
my  residence,  and  were  either  killed  or  se 
verely  injured.  I  immediately  repaired  to 
the  spot,  with  lights  and  assistants.  I  dis 
covered  a  gentleman  and  a  young  lady,  lying 
apparently  senseless,  upon  the  ground.  The 
gentleman  I  instantly  recognized  to  be  'Squire 


270  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

Middleton.  I  examined  his  limbs ;  none 
were  broken  ;  and  though  bruised,  no  doubt, 
by  his  fall  upon  the  frozen  ground,  he  did 
not  seem  to  be  seriously  injured.  He  could 
scarcely  articulate,  and  seemed  unable  to  give 
any  account  of  the  disaster.  This  circum 
stance  I  was  compelled  to  understand,  as  con 
nected  with  the  cause,  rather  than  the  effect 
of  the  accident.  The  road  was  broad  and 
smooth,  and  the  stars  unusually  bright.  The 
young  lady  was  without  sense  or  motion. 
She  was  taken  a  very  short  distance  to  my 
house.  Upon  a  careful  examination,  I  dis 
covered  that  three  ribs  were  broken  and  the 
skull  severely  fractured.  Death  was  pro 
duced,  beyond  a  doubt,  almost  instantaneous 
ly.  The  chaise,  which  was  broken  to  pieces, 
had  been  driven,  as  we  perceived  by  the 
wheel-tracks  upon  the  light  snow,  entirely 
out  of  the  road  and  against  the  wall.' 

"  On  the  following  morning,  Mrs.  Middle 
ton  remained  in  the  same  condition  of  mind. 
She  had  not  slept  during  the  night.  Her  hus 
band  was  threatened  with  a  brain  fever.  The 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  271 

physician  suggested,  as  a  last  resort,  the  pro 
priety  of  leading  the  distracted  mother  to  the 
apartment,  where  the  body  of  Elinor  lay, 
and  which  had  been  brought  to  the  house,  at 
an  early  hour  of  the  morning.  It  was  sug 
gested,  as  an  expedient  that  had  been  tried  in 
similar  cases,  and  sometimes  with  the  happiest 
effect.  l  We  may  expel  the  creature  of  the 
imagination,'  said  the  physician,  '  by  substitu 
ting  the  reality,  awful  as  it  is  ;  and  the  mind 
having  gotten  back  into  the  channel  of  natural 
grief,  time  and  care  may  be  expected  to  effect 
a  cure.  Upon  a  somewhat  similar  principle, 
we  deal  with  certain  diseases  of  the  body, — 
we  convert  an  ulcer  into  a  burn,  and  cure  the 
burn  at  our  leisure,  or  suffer  it  to  cure  itself.' 
As  it  appeared  to  him,  that  matters  could 
not  be  made  worse  by  the  experiment,  I  yield 
ed  my  consent.  —  I  entered  Mrs.  Middleton's 
apartment,  and  giving  her  my  arm,  requested 
her  to  walk  with  me.  —  *  Then  you  will  go 
with  me,'  said  she,  with  the  same  touching 
expression,  '  and  dig  little  Elinor's  grave.'  — 
I  made  no  reply,  and  she  suffered  herself  to 


THE    STAGE-COACH. 


be  conducted  to  the  apartment,  where  the 
body  of  her  poor  Elinor  lay.  The  physician 
followed,  to  render  such  assistance  as  might 
be  needed.  I  opened  the  door,  —  the  body 
had  not  yet  been  committed  to  its  narrow 
house,  —  it  lay  arrayed  in  the  vestment  of  the 
grave,  and  retained,  in  an  unusual  degree,  the 
semblance  of  living  and  breathing  slumber.  — 
The  mother's  eye  fastened  upon  the  object 
before  her,  —  with  expanded  arms  she  darted 
towards  it,  and  clasped  the  cold  body  to  her 
throbbing  heart.  —  I  looked  at  the  physician, 

—  he  placed  his  ringer  upon  his  lips,  and  I 
continued  motionless  and  still.  —  After  a  pause 
of  many  seconds,  she  raised  herself  from  the 
bed,  and  gazed  upon  the  corpse.  —  c  Elinor!' 
said  she,  '  Elinor  !  my  child  !   speak  to  me/ 

—  then  putting  her  hand  upon  its  brow,  — 
(  How  cold  !  '  she  exclaimed,  and  turning  her 
inquiring  gaze  upon  us  both,  —  l  is  it  so  ?  '  she 
cried  in  a  faltering  voice,  —  the  smile  of  dis 
ordered  imagination  had  fled  —  the  lip  quiv 
ered  —  the  uplifted  eye  turned  again  to  him, 
with  whom  are  the  issues  of  life  and  of  death 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  273 

—  and  the  dry  and  feverish  tempest  of  the 
soul  found  vent,  at  last,  in  a  torrent  of  tears. 
— '  It  is  well,'  said  the  physician,  in  an  under 
tone,  and,  drawing  a  chair  by  her  side,  he 
took  her  hand,  while  she  lay  her  head  upon 
my  bosom  and  sobbed  aloud. — <  And  how  is 
this  ?  '  said  she,  after  a  long  paroxysm  of 
sorrow.  The  physician  proceeded,  with  great 
calmness  and  propriety,  to  narrate  the  circum 
stances,  in  as  brief  a  manner  as  possible.  She 
was  then  extremely  urgent  to  see  her  husband, 
but  this,  in  his  highly-excited  state,  was  posi 
tively  forbidden. 

"  The  fever  ran  its  course,  and  left  him 
exceedingly  feeble.  His  poor  wife,  who, 
after  a  few  days,  was  permitted  to  approach 
his  sick  bed,  though  suffering  herself  intensely, 
was  constantly  at  his  side.  The  physician, 
after  the  lapse  of  three  or  four  weeks, 
pronounced  him  to  be  in  a  decline.  During 
this  period,  I  was  frequently  in  his  chamber, 
as  were  his  brothers,  Geoffrey  and  John.  It 
was  truly  affecting,  to  witness  his  contrition. 
The  image  of  his  ill-fated  child  was  constant- 


274  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

ly  before  him,  and,  at  times,  when  he  was 
upbraiding  himself  as  the  cause  of  her  death, 
no  martyr  on  the  wheel  ever  presented  a 
picture  of  more  perfect  agony  than  that, 
which  tortured  the  soul  of  this  miserable  man. 
He  was  fully  sensible  of  his  approaching  end. 
— <  It  is  too  late  for  me,'  said  he,  one  day,  as 
we  were  all  sitting  by  his  bed-side,  'to  do 
much  good  by  my  example ;  possibly,  how 
ever,5  he  added, c  the  attestation  of  a  dying  man 
may  have  some  little  influence  when  I  am  no 
more.  If  you  think  so,  I  will  sign  the  pledge 
of  your  society.'  John  Middleton  soon  pro 
cured  the  book,  and  this  unhappy  young  man, 
with  considerable  effort,  wrote  his  name  for 
the  last  time.  c  Would  to  God,'  he  feebly 
cried,  turning  to  his  wretched  partner,  as  the 
pen  fell  from  his  faltering  hand,  '  that  I  had 
done  this,  dear  Margaret,  before  our  dark  days 
began.'  —  He  lived  but  a  week  after  this 
event;  and  I  have  good  reason  to  believe, 
that  the  sight  of  this  trembling  autograph,  — 
almost  the  last  act  of  a  dying  man,  —  was  not 
without  its  influence  upon  a  few  of  his  mis- 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  275 

guided  associates.  I  was  with  him,  during 
his  last  moments  ;  they  were  certainly  mo 
ments  of  the  deepest  contrition.  As  I  closed 
the  eyes  of  this  young  man,  and  gazed  upon 
his  cold,  and  pale,  and  motionless  features,  I 
was  forcibly  struck  by  the  almost  inconceiva 
ble  change,  which  had  taken  place  in  the 
compass  of  a  few  fleeting  years.  I  had  taken 
unusual  pains  in  preparing  Arthur  Middleton 
for  his  professional  career.  He  was  under 
my  eye,  as  a  student  in  my  office,  for  three 
years.  I  had  acquired  an  intimate  knowledge 
of  his  character.  His  talents  were  of  a  very 
high  order ;  he  had  the  keenest  sense  of 
honor  ;  his  disposition  was  altogether  amiable, 
and  his  deportment  universally  acceptable. 
His  professional  prospects  were  equal  to  those 
of  any  gentleman  of  similar  standing.  He 
had  married  the  girl  of  his  heart,  and  their 
matrimonial  connection,  formed  under  the 
happiest  auspices,  gave  abundant  promise  of 
all  that  rational  felicity,  of  which  the  married 
relation  is  susceptible.  Their  union  was 
cemented  by  the  birth  of  an  uncommonly 


276  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

beautiful  and  lovely  daughter.  But  all  these 
considerations  were  insufficient  to  restrain 
his  appetite  for  wine  ;  talents  and  learning, 
health  arid  reputation,  wife  and  child,  and 
even  life  itself  were  sacrificed  upon  the  altar 
of  this  false  god." 

"  And  pray,  mynheer,"  said  the  old  Dutch 
man,  "  vat  vas  de  fate  of  de  poor  lady 
herself?  "  —  During  many  parts  of  the  recital, 
the  countenance  of  the  narrator  had  indicated 
the  deepest  emotion ;  yet  he  had  related  the 
story,  on  the  whole,  with  great  firmness  of 
voice  and  calmness  of  manner.  But  the  old 
Dutchman's  interrogatory  was  perfectly  over 
whelming.  The  elderly  gentleman's  features 
were  instantly  convulsed,  and  the  tears  ran 
freely  down  his  cheeks.  —  "I  pe  feared  I  a? 
done  wrong,  mynheer,"  said  the  old  Dutch 
man,  with  a  look  of  painful  anxiety.  —  "  No, 
sir,"  said  the  narrator,  after  he  had  recovered 
his  self-command,  "your  inquiry  is  perfect 
ly  natural,  and  I  have  no  desire  to  withhold 
from  the  world  the  full  advantage,  which  it 
may  derive  from  this  melancholy  example.  I 


THE    STAGE-COACH.  277 

am  not  desirous  of  concealing  any  part  of  that 
misery,  which,  in  the  present  case,  proceeded 
directly  from  the  employment  of  a  beverage, 
which  by  many  is  accounted  so  entirely  inno 
cent.  The  lady,  whose  fate  you  are  desirous 
of  knowing,  still  lives,  —  the  tenant  of  a  mad 
house.  After  the  death  of  her  husband,  she 
became  exceedingly  depressed ;  and  her 
melancholy,  in  a  few  months,  became  changed 
into  absolute  insanity.  The  sole  object  of  my 
present  journey  is  to  visit  this  ill-fated  girl.  I 
have  endeavored  to  suppress  my  emotions,  as 
much  as  possible,  during  this  painful  recital. 
Those  of  you,  who  are  parents,  will  readily 
pardon  these  tears,  which  it  is  not  easy  for  an 
old  man  to  restrain,  while  he  is  describing  the 
sufferings  of  a  devoted  daughter,  an  only 
child."  —  "  Mine  Got !  "  said  the  Dutchman, 
as  he  touched  his  hat  reverentially.  —  A  long 
and  solemn  pause  ensued,  which  no  one  ap 
peared  disposed  to  interrupt.  A  deep  and 
affecting  impression  had  been  produced  upon 
us  all,  saving  the  young  woman  in  the  Tuscan 
bonnet,  who  had  enjoyed  a  profound  slumber 


278  THE    STAGE-COACH. 

for  the  last  two  hours.  —  At  length  we 
arrived  at  our  last  stopping-place  for  the 
night  —  the  passengers  alighted,  responding 
in  their  hearts  to  the  sentiment  expressed 
by  the  old  Dutchman,  as  we  were  separating 
from  one  another,  that  "nopody  ought  to 
pegrutch  vat  he  pay  for  de  STAGE-COACH." 


APPENDIX. 


NOTE.— Page  247. 

To  those,  who  have  studied  the  subject  with  care 
ful  attention,  the  mixture  of  water  with  the  elemental 
tt>we,at  the  eucharist,  whatever  the  character  of  that 
wine  may  have  been,  will  appear  neither  an  "  adul 
teration  "  nor  an  "innovation  "  upon  primitive  usage. 
So  much  misconception  has  prevailed,  and  still  pre 
vails,  that  it  may  not  be  a  worthless  sacrifice  of 
time,  for  those,  who  have  not  duly  considered  this 
highly  interesting  subject,  to  give  their  attention  to 
the  evidence  subjoined. 

Upon  Matthew  xxvi.  27,  Bloomfield  has  the  follow 
ing  commentary  :  — "  Wine  and  water  were  used  in 
the  paschal  cup ;  and  the  Rabbins  say,  over  wine 
unmixed  with  water,  no  blessing  is  asked.  This  cus 
tom  of  mixing  wine  with  water  was  adopted  by  the 
first  Christians,  and  is  still  continued  by  the  Roman 
ists.  See  Justin  Martyr,  Clement,  Cyprian,  cited  by 
Grotius." 


280  APPENDIX. 

Water,  mead,  or  hydromel,  milk,  the  juice  of  the 
grapes  pressed  forth  at  the  table,  at  the  time  of 
the  celebration,  —  these  and  other  matters  were  em* 
ployed  from  the  earliest  times,  at  the  eucharist ;  and, 
while  approved  by  some,  were  condemned  by  others. 
These  facts  are  stated  by  Bingham,  in  his  Antiquities, 
fol.  ed.  vol.  i.  book  xv.  chap.  ii.  sec.  vii.  Bingham 
is  a  writer  of  the  highest  authority.  The  use  of  water 
alone  was  reprobated  by  many ;  so  was  the  use  of  wine 
a,' one;  in  proof  of  this,  he  quotes  Cyprian,  Ep.  63  ad 
Caecilium.  Cyprian  was  born  in  the  beginning  of  the 
third  century.  The  third  Council  of  Carthage,  says 
Bingham,  expressly  decreed,  that  nothing  should  be 
used  but  what  Christ  offered,  that  is,  wine  and  water; 
and  he  adds,  that  St.  Austin  was  a  member  of  that 
Council,  who  quotes  Cyprian's  epistle  with  approbation. 
Gennadius,  who  wrote  in  the  fifteenth  century,  ques 
tions  not  the  ancient  custom  of  using  wine  and  watert 
but  gives  two  reasons  for  it;  first,  because  Christ  did 
so,  and  secondly,  because  water  and  blood  flowed  from 
his  side,  when  he  was  pierced.  We  have  nothing  to 
do  with  the  second  reason  of  Gennadius  ;  we  desire 
only  to  establish  the  fact.  St.  Ambrose  was  of  the 
same  opinion.  Milk,  and  also  water,  alone,  and  new 
wine,  pressed  from  grapes  at  the  table,  and  upon  the 
occasion,  were  severally  condemned  at  the  Council  of 
Braga.  But  the  same  Council  expressly  approved  of 
wine  and  water.  The  Council  of  Auxerre  decreed 
against  honey  and  mead,  but  expressly  in  favor  of 
wine  mixed  with  water.  Justin  Martyr,  Apol.  ii.  p.  97, 
and  Irenseus,  lib  4,  chap.  57,  explicitly  state,  that  wine 


APPENDIX.  281 

mixed  with  water,  was  used  at  the  Lord's  supper.  Ire- 
nseus  was  born  A.  D.  120.  The  birth-time  of  Justin 
Martyr  is  not  known;  he  was  converted  A.  D.  130. 
Bingham  does  not  consider  it  necessary  to  mix  wi/te 
wil/t  water,  but  his  words  clearly  prove,  that  he  enter 
tained  no  doubt  that  such  had  been  the  primitive  usage. 
— "  Yet.  after  all,"  says  he,  "  as  there  is  no  express 
command  for  this  in  the  institution,  notwithstanding 
this  general  consent  of  the  ancient  Churches,  it  is  com 
monly  determined  by  modern  divines,  as  well  of  the 
Roman  as  Protestant  communion,  that  it  is  not  essen 
tial  to  the  sacrament  itself."  It  would  not  be  deco 
rous  to  offer  our  own  version,  unaccompanied  by  the 
original  text.  St.  Jerome,  commenting  on  Mark  xiv., 
writes  thus: — "  Accepit  Jesus  panem,  &c.  formana 
sanguinem  suum  in  calicem,  vino  et  aqua  mixtum,  ut 
alio  purgemur  a  culpis,  alio  redimamur  a  pcenis." 
"  Jesus  took  bread,  &c.  and  forming  his  blood  in  the 
cup,  with  a  mixture  of  wine  and  water,  that,  by  one, 
we  might  be  cleansed  from  our  sins,  and,  by  the  other, 
redeemed  from  our  punishments." 

Probably  the  most  able  writer  upon  this  subject,  is 
Gerard  John  Vossius,  whose  works  were  printed  at 
Amsterdam,  in  six  volumes,  folio.  In  vol.  vi.  p.  42G, 
he  treats  ••"  de  sacris  comae  Dominicse  symbolis;"  — 
"  concerning  the  sacred  symbols  of  the  Lord's  sup 
per."  Having  treated  of  the  bread,  he  proceeds,  on 
page  439.  to  treat  of  the  other  element.  "  Venio  mine," 
says  he,"  ad  alterum  symbolum,  quod  vinumesse,  inde 
cognoscimus,  quia  illud  yevv/^a  rije  afinfXov  disertim 
appellet  Christus." — "I  come  now  to  the  other  sym- 

24 


232 


APPENDIX. 


bol,  which  we  know  to  be  wine,  because  Christ  express 
ly  calls  it  the  fruit  of  the  vine."  That  is  to  say,  Vossius 
had  the  same  reason,  which  we  have,  and  no  other,  for 
calling  "  the  fruit  of  the  vine  "  by  the  general  name 
wine,  whether  fermented  or  not.  This  writer  is  op 
posed  to  the  use  of  water  alone,  at  the  eucharist,  but 
he  expresses  not  the  slightest  doubt  of  the  fact,  that 
wine,  mixed  with  water,  was  generally  used  in  ancient 
times.  He  proceeds,  in  the  third  thesis,  to  inquire 
what  shall  be  substituted,  if  wine  cannot  be  had,  and 
quotes  an  extract  from  one  of  Beza's  letters,  and  ap 
proves  the  doctrine  it  contains.  Beza  died  early  in  the 
seventeenth  century.  The  extract  runs  thus  r  "  Ro- 
gatus  piae  memoriae  vir  D.  Calvinus  a  fratribus,  qui 
turn  in  America  erant,  ubi  nnllus  est  vini  usus.  lice- 
re  tne  pro  vino,  uti  in  coena  Domini,  vel  aqua  simplici, 
qua  plerumque  illic  utuntur,  yel  alio  illic  non  inusitato 
potionis  genere  :  respondit,  fuisse  in  hoc  instituendo 
sacramento  consilium,  ut  spiritualis  alirnonise  nobis 
sub  com  munis  cibi  et  potus  symbolis  representaret :  ac 
proinde,  si  non  fuisset  turn  in  Judsea  communis  vini 
usus,  procul  dubio  alia  vulgari  potione  usurum  fuisse, 
quod  ex  ipsius  scopo  ac  consilio  liqueat.  Itaque  nihil 
a  Christi  consilio  ac  voluntate  alienum  facere  videri. 
qui  non  contemtu,  neque  temeritate,  sed  ipsa  necessi 
tate  adacti,  pro  vino  aliud  in  iis  regionibus  usitatae  pe- 
tionis  genus  usurparent.  Hoc  D.  Calvini  responsum, 
ut  optima  ratione  nixum,  et  Christi  consilio  consenta- 
neum,  noster  coetus  adeo  comprobavit,  ut  eos  super- 
stitiose  facere  censuerit,  qui  a  vini  symbolo  usque  adeo 
penderent,  ut  alteram  ccense  partem  omittere  mallent, 


APPENDIX.  283 

quani  aruAoyop  aliud  symbolum,  ita  cogente  necessi 
tate,  usurpare."  "  D.  Calvin,  a  man  of  pious  memo 
ry,  being  asked  by  his  brethren,  who  were  then  in 
America,  where  wine  was  not  used,  if  it  would  be 
lawful  to  use,  at  the  Lord's  supper,  either  pure  water, 
which  was  the  common  drink  there,  or  any  other  cus 
tomary  beverage,  replies,  that,  in  instituting  the  sacra 
ment,  it  was  intended,  under  the  symbols  of  common 
meat  and  drink,  to  represent  a  spiritual  aliment ;  and, 
if  wine  had  not  been  a  common  drink  in  Judea,  at  that 
time,  it  is  clear,  beyond  all  doubt,  from  the  very  scope 
and  design  of  the  institution,  that  some  other  common 
beverage  would  have  been  employed.  Therefore, 
those  persons,  who  substituted  some  other  customary 
drink  of  those  regions  for  wine,  having  acted  neither 
contemptuously  nor  rashly,  but  from  necessity,  appear 
in  no  wise  to  have  contravened  the  will  or  design  of 
Christ.  This  answer  of  D.  Calvin,  full  of  sound  sense, 
and  so  agreeable  to  the  design  of  Christ,  our  assembly 
so  entirely  approves,  that  it  considers  those  as  acting 
superstitiously,  who  lay  so  great  a  stress  on  wine,  that 
they  had  rather  omit  the  rest  of  the  supper,  than  em 
ploy  any  other  analogous  symbol,  in  such  cases  of 
necessity."  We  have  given,  as  we  believe,  a  faithful 
translation.  The  opinion  of  D.  Calvin  is  approved, 
not  only  by  Beza  and  Vossius,  but  by  the  "  assembly." 
So  far  as  the  opinions  of  D.  Calvin,  and  Beza,  and  the 
"  assembly  "  are  entitled  to  pass  for  authority,  we  can 
not  doubt,  that,  wherever  the  fruit  of  the  vine  is  not  a 
lt  common  beverage,"  any  other  innocent  beverage  may 
be  employed,  provided  the  communicants  are  not 


284-  APPENDIX. 

moved  to  the  change  by  a  spirit  of  "  rashness  "  or  "  con 
tempt  "  for  the  ordinance.  The  -tiectsyity  does  nut 
seem  to  depend  on  the  fact,  that  not  a  dn>p  of  wine  can 
be  had,  but  that  it  is  nM  a  cow  won  bfv.rage.  Ifftr- 
mented  wine,  therefore,  were  used  at  the  original  insti 
tution,  how  can  it  be  considered  essential,  under  ail 
circumstances,  to  a  just  performance  of  the  rite  ? 

The  Council  of  Cleraiont,  can.  23,  enjoins  the  com 
munion  in  both  kinds,  adding  two  exceptions.  "  me 
of  necessity  and  the  other  of  caution  ;  "  the  first  in 
favor  of  the  "s/c/i,"  the  other  of  the  "  abstemious"  <;r 
those  who  had  an  aversion  for  wine.  —  We  now  pro 
ceed  to  give  th>->  remninder  of  the  extract  from  the- 
letter  of  Beza.  "  There  v/ero  some,"  says  Vossius,  "  who 
might  object  to  water,  because  of  the  imperfectness 
of  the  analogy,  inasmuch  as  water  was  not  composed 
of  many  grupts,  signifying  that  wo  ;;ro  iiianu  members 
of  one  body  :  "  "  Deinde  qriia  obiici  poterat  aquae  in 
simile  potione  non  inesse  «j'«Aoy/«v  illam,  ut  ex  multis 
acinis  confiat,  ad  iimtiuun  coujunctionem  testandaiu/' 
To  this  the  letter  of  Beza  replies  ud  fellows  :  —  "  That 
truly  the  analogy  of  bread,  composed  of  many  grnins, 
and  wine,  of  many  grapes,  is  not,  to  be  disregarded  ; 
but  still  it  should  not  be  too  precisely  enforced ;  for  it 
is  enough,  if  the  unity  of  the  members  be  signified  by  the 
use  of  the  symbols,  that  is,  ?nft(.?and  drink,  in  svmr  kind, 
and  by  testifying  the  snme  faith  :  "  "  Non  esse  quidnu 
negligendam,  at  non  tamen  adeo  precise  urgeridarn  aria- 
logiam  panis  ex  multis  granis, et  vini ex  inulUs acinis  c(;n- 
fecti :  sed  ad  illam  mutuamconjunctionem  testiflcar;d.mi 
sufficere,  quod  iisdern  in  genere  symbolic,  nempe  cibo  et 


APPENDIX.  285 

poti> utamur,  eandemque  fidem  testificemur."  —  A  ques 
tion  was  afterwards  proposed  in  relation  to  abstemious 
persons,  and  such  as  were  unable  to  take  wine  on  account 
of  its  effects  :  to  this  he  replies,  rather  than  omit  the 
whole  supper,  let  such  use  water  or  any  other  custom 
ary  drink ;  nor  doubt  that  the  blood  of  Christ  would  be 
as  surely  communicated  to  him  by  the  symbol  of  such 
drink,  as  by  that  of  wine,  since  the  promise  is  general, 
and  refers  to  all  the  faithful :  "  Potius  quam  integram 
crenam  non  peragat,  vel  aqua,  vel  alia  sibi  familiar! 
potione  utatur :  neque  dubitet,  tarn  sibi  sub  hoc  potu, 
quam  sub  vino,  sanguinem  Christi  communicari,  cum 
promissio  sit  generalis,  et  ad  omnes  fideles  spectet." — 
Philip  Melancthon  observes,  that  the  Ruthenians  acted 
rightly,  who  substituted  hydrornel,  or  honey  and  water, 
at  the  eucharist,  on  account  of  the  scarcity  of  wine. 
Upon  this,  Bellarminus  exclaims,  lib.  iv.  c.  24,  de 
Euchar. :  "  Sed  quis  dedit  Philippo  auctoritatem  mu- 
tandi  sacramentorum  materiarn?" — "  But  who  gave 
Philip  authority  to  change  the  material  of  the  sacra 
ment  ?  "  Whereupon  Vossius  remarks,  —  "  As  though 
Christ,  in  the  institution  of  the  supper,  referred  not 
generally  to  the  utility  of  some  drink,  but  particularly  to 
the  propriety  of  wine !  "  "  Quasi  Christus  non  univer 
se  utilitatem  potus,  sed  particulatim  vini  proprietatern 
in  institutione  respexerit !  "  To  exhibit  the  character 
of  Bellarminus,  Vossius  observes,  —  This  Bellarminus 
presently  adds, "  How  much  more  wisely  has  the  Church 
of  Rome  conducted;  she  has  not  changed  the  materi 
als  of  the  sacrament,  but  remedied  its  defects,  by  ad 
ministering  to  the  people  in  one  kind : "  "  Quanto 


286  APPENDIX. 

sapientius  ecclesia  (Romana)  non  mutat  sacramento- 
rum  materias ;  sed  incommodo  illi  mcdetur,  unam 
speciem  tantum  ministrando." — In  contemplation  of 
such  facts,  and  with  the  opinions  of  the  ancient  fathers 
before  us,  is  it  not  perfectly  absurd  to  proclaim,  that 
nothing  can  rightfully  be  employed  at  the  communion, 
but  fermented  wine,  and  that  even  this  cannot  be  min 
gled  with  water,  without  "  an  unhallowed  innovation"  ? 
Vossius,  in  his  fourth  thesis,  vol.  vi.  p.  440,  proceeds 
to  inquire  "  an  vinum  aqua  dilui  sit  nccesse  :  "  if  it  be 
necessary  —  not  if  it  be  an  "  unhalloioed  innovation" 
—  so  to  mix  the  wine  and  water.  No  person  can  fail  to 
perceive,  that,  however  unnecessary,  in  the  view  of 
some  persons,  Vossius  never  surmised  that  it  was  un 
lawful,  much  less  an  "  unhallowed  innovation"  Our 
readers  are  convinced,  by  this  time,  that  this  most 
learned  and  sagacious  writer  knew  something  more  of 
these  matters  than  certain  modern  divines.  Vossius 
expressly  states  —  "  Christum  ipsum  prascipisse,  ut 
aqua  vino  misceatur  sensit  Cyprianus  :  "  Epist.  63,  ad 
Caecilium  :  "  Cyprian  thinks,  that  Christ  commanded 
water  to  be  mixed  with  wine"  Vossius  also  refers  to  the 
third  Council  of  Carthage,  which  decreed  the  same 
thing,  (can.  24.)  that,  in  the  sacrament  of  the  body  and 
blood  of  our  Lord,  nothing  more  should  be  offered  than 
the  Lord  himself  delivered,  that  is,  bread  and  wine, 
mixed  with  water :  li  ut,  in  sacra^entis  corporis  et 
sanguinis  Domini,  nihil  amplius  offeratur,  quam  ipse 
Dominus  tradidit,  hoc  est  panis,  et  vinum,  aqua  mix- 
turn."  Commenting  on  this  opinion,  Gregory  Valentin 
remarks,  that  this  is  much  more  probable  than  the  no- 


APPENDIX.  2S7 

tion  that  this  practice  originated  with  the  church : 
"hanc  sententiam  esse  magis  probabilem,  quam  ilia, 
ut  solum  Ecclesiastic!  sit  praecepti :  "  Disput.  vi.  qusest. 
11,  de  Euch.  mat.  punct.  1.  Gregory  adds,  that  Ho- 
sius,  Alanus,  and  Scotus  have  expressed  the  same 
opinion.  These  writers,  says  Vossius,  place  the  foun 
dation  of  this  opinion  in  the  example  of  Christ,  who,  as 
Justin,  Irenseus,  and  others  of  the  ancients  inform  us, 
diluted  the  wine  :  — "  Fundamentum  hi  seritentiaB 
suae  ponunt  exemplum  Christi,  quern  diluisse  vinum 
tradunt  Justinus,  Irenaeus,  et  alii  veterum." — Vossius 
is  rather  in  favor  of  omitting  the  water,  on  the  ground 
that  it  is  not  absolutely  necessary,  but  the  notion  never 
occurs  to  him  that  such  mixing  of  wine  with  water  ia 
unlawful,  or  in  any  way  improper,  much  less,  that  it 
is  an  "  unhallowed  innovation."  On  the  contrary,  he 
quotes  Justin  Martyr's  words  to  prove  that  bread, 
wine,  and  water  were  employed.  Justin,  who  was 
converted,  as  we  stated  before,  A.  D.  130,  in  his  de 
scription  of  the  supper,  (apolog.  11,)  speaks  of  the 
eucharistal  bread,  and  wine  and  water,  "  rov  fvjfccQi- 
dtvTos  UQTOV,  xat  oiVov,  xai  i'darog."  It  is  for  the  same 
reason,  says  Vossius,  that  Irenaeus  speaks  of  the  tem 
pering  of  the  cup ;  "  temperamentum  calicis,"  lib.  iv\ 
cap.  11.  Cyprian,  continues  he,  speaks  of  it  in  many 
places;  so  do  Julius,  Basil,  Gregory,  Chrysostom,  Je 
rome,  Augustin,  Proclus,  Bede,  Damascenus,  Rabanus 
Mautus,  Paschasius,  Algerus,  Nicephorus,  and  many 
others  of  the  fathers  and  ancient  writers.  The  curious 
reader  may  find  the  particular  passages  with  ease,  by 
recurring  to  the  references  of.  Vossius.  —  The  wor,da. 


288  APPENDIX. 

• 

employed,  at  the  Council  of  Trent,  are  these:  —  The 
holy  Synod  r.diu^nishcs,  therefore,  that  it  is  command 
ed  by  the  Church  to  its  ministers,  that  they  shall  mix 
water  with  the  wine,  in  offering  the  cup,  because  it  is 
believed  that  Christ  our  Lord  did  so,  &c. :  "  Monet 
deinde  sancta  Synodus,  prseceptum  esse  ab  Ecclesia 
sacerdotibus,  ut  aquam  vino  in  calice  offerendo  misce- 
rent,  turn  quod  Christum  Dominum  ita  fecisse  creda- 
tur,"  etc.  —  It  is,  surely,  unnecessary  to  press  thi§ 
evidence  any  farther. 


'  I  ' 
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